The Twins Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
by Emperor Sunny
Summary: What if, by a change of fate, Harry had a twin brother? That James and Lily survived? Sirius never went to Azkaban? It all seems well and good now, but when the dust settles and the Dark Lord tightens his grip on the world, the tragedies get much worse...
1. Chapter 1: The Prologue

I write this and the following chapter on a school night where I have a test in the morning, jacked up on Monster, Mountain Dew, Sunkist orange soda, and Tropican smoking Camel lights, listening to Metallica, and texting a girl I don't really like. Uh... hit it?

Haha, It may be 276 some odd miles to Chicago, but I am nowhere near as awesome as Belushi. This is an idea I had after hearing a story from a friend of my mine from Last Chance(my school, Lewis and Clark Community College), where his mother and father were mugged and almost killed in London. Someone came across them and took Li(let us just say thats his name) and left his parents and twin sister to die.

This is my first Harry Potter fic, so please, feel free to read, critique, and enjoy what I have written. Oh, and by the way, reviews are love. Spread the world with it!

-enjoi.

* * *

_"The first casualty of war is always the truth."  
_

**-9:30 p.m**

The cold autumn wind blew silently across the streets of Godric's Hollow upon the late hours of October 31st, 1981. Most of the younger children celebrating Hallowe'en had long left the cooling streets in favor of warm beds and various free treats. The cloaked man walked down those streets at a stride, with purpose.

Two birds, one stone. The prophecy claimed that the one with the power to destroy him was born at the end of July, and both the Longbottom child and Potter twins were thusly born at the end of July. He would kill the Potter boys first; he already knew their location due to the treachery of one who they considered a "friend".

What an ignorant social concept, friends. What were they good for? They did nothing but betray you in the end; it was inevitable. Love and friendship were not power, as that old fool Dumbledore claimed. They hurt, they betrayed, they _killed_.

A straggler from the trick-or-treating passed him on the road and turned back.

"Nice outfit, Mister!" the child exclaimed. Tom Marvolo Riddle turned and gave the boy a blank, indifferent look from beneath his cloak. Upon seeing his face, the little boy gasped in terror and ran away, slipping on the leaf-covered road as he retreated.

Tom Riddle. The very name he had tried to leave behind. Yes, he was Lord Voldemort now, the greatest of all Dark Lords. Greater than Grindelwald, more feared than Emeric the Evil, more powerful than Godelot, more talented than Herpo the Foul, more dedicated than Vladislav. Yes, he would be more renowned than even Vlad the Impaler; that foul, half-human, half vampire that killed so many wizards and Muggles alike.

He wouldn't have been surprised if he already was. He already had turned his very name, Voldemort, into a sound that was to be feared; a Taboo. His Dark Mark invoked desperation and terror into the hearts of the wizarding families who found them hovering over their once "happy" homes.

He was immortal! He had conquered death but still things had come his way; testing him, stretching him and challenging him to live true to his calling card. This prophesied child, this "_one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord_" was just another barrier between him and his ultimate quest to leave the name "Riddle" behind. And like any other barrier he encountered, he would shatter it, no matter how much the two infant rats cried.

* * *

_"If you stand for nothing, you will fall for anything."_

James Ignotus Potter laughed along with his beautiful wife Lily as their twin sons, Harry James and James Dean played with their parents' wands. This, James felt, was a miracle, as his parents died at the hands of some Death Eaters only one week earlier. He and his parents were very close, and their deaths came like a shock to the system, but not a surprise. Dumbledore ordered them into hiding, and Voldemort wanted James and his wife dead. What better way to get him to come running from the under the blanket than a chance for revenge?

James felt a wave of sickness and hatred as he thought of how his beloved parents died. Potter Manor's wards shattered. Andrew and Gwyneth Potter tortured, stripped naked, and hung by their ankles outside of Hogsmeade… his mother and father publicly humiliated in death.

He was thankful that Lily had talked him down. He'd always known that she was the "one" for him, but it somehow still amazed him how the woman could be his everlasting voice of reason. In fact, the night she gave birth to not the expected one son, but the twins, he swore she never looked more beautiful. After seven hours of despair, pain, worry, and her threatening to use certain spells to cut off his "little boys," with her hair wild and tangled, her face relaxed and exhausted from pain, covered in sweat, she looked less like a woman who just pushed two six pound babies out of her stomach and more like an angel sent from heaven.

She gave him something he felt he couldn't give her back- a family, eternal love, and a purpose to live; despite the loss of the two most influential people in his life. Lily's soft giggle pulled James out of his reverie and back to his two handsome young sons.

By some stroke of luck, Harry had made his small, stuffed toy duck orbit around his head with his mother's wand. He giggled and tried to grab it with his chubby little fist as it soared around the crown of his head. Meanwhile James had managed to transfigure his father's shot glass into a bouncy ball and was dribbling it off his brothers back.

"James Dean, that's not nice," James Sr. jokingly admonished. The boy grinned a gap-toothed smile and threw the ball at his father, who was surprised that upon skillfully catching it, it was already turned back into the shot glass. He turned the tumbler around his hands, admiring the moving text of Ogden's Firewhiskey. "It looks like we have a future Chaser in the making!"

"And if Harry can learn how to catch that damnable duck, maybe we'll have a seeker too!" Lily laughed.

"Oh, not the whole, 'I'm a Chaser, I'm more important-No, I was a seeker, I'm more important' talk again…"

Lily's soft, wholehearted laugh filled his heart with joy as she shifted to better watch James and Harry.

"I still don't understand why you wanted to name him James _Dean_. Where did that come from?" Lily asked, trying, and failing, to get over the fact that James Sr. wasn't mad that his son had thrown something like that at him. She merely shook her head and thought to herself; '_That's just James, always the consummate weirdo who could find the most infuriating things hilarious_.'

"I told you, Lils, I thought it was cool. I know I've heard it before, and I thought the name sounded rad."

"_Rad_? What are you, twelve?"

"Ye-"James affirmative was cut off by a crash and a flash of light outside the front door. Quickly getting off the couch and looking out the window, what he saw made his heart stop. "Lily, he's here."

"Who, Sirius? Well, James, let him in, it's not the end of the world!" Lily joked.

"No, Lil, it isn't Sirius, it's him. HIM! Take James and Harry, run! Don't look back! I'll hold him off!"

* * *

_A great war leaves the country with three armies - an army of cripples, an army of mourners, and an army of thieves._

~German Proverb

If Voldemort had a sense of humor, he would have smiled, maybe even laughed at the Potters' attempts to save themselves. The father stood at the base of the stairs, wandless. A look of determination laced with fear crossed his face.

"You'll never get away with this. Someday, someone will make you pay for all the lives you've taken. The lives you have ruined," the father spat.

"Shut up," Voldemort replied as he raised his wand. Potter let out an enraged roar and charged. He tackled the Dark Lord as a flash of green light struck him in the chest, freezing the look of rage on the man's face as he fell to the floor atop the Dark Lord.

Voldemort regained his footing and looked down at Potter. Taking his foot and rolling the dead man's face back and forth, he growled, "So weak." Voldemort never heard the groan escape James mouth, and without a second glance, he trekked up the stairs Potter had so pathetically attempted to guard. He glided through an open door and into the lighted room. The two boys were on the floor, looking confusedly between the cloaked man and their wailing mother. "Please don't kill them, please, I'll do anything!"

"Step aside, girl! Step aside and I'll let you live!"

The twins obviously thought that this was a practical joke, something they sub-consciously knew their humor-loving father loved to do. They laughed and screamed "Dada!" At any moment the man would take off the black hood, and their father and mother would share a laugh and sing them to sleep. Or so they thought…

"Please, take me instead, just leave them alone. Leave them alone, you monster!"

His high, cold voice broke the first impression that the two boys had upon the situation. Their mother in distress caused the twins to lose it; soon their wails filled the house as Voldemort raised his wand and issued his final warning; "Move or die!"

"NO! LEAVE THEM _ALONE_!"

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!" _With a flash of green light, Voldemort watched what he thought was the life leave Lily Potter's body as quickly and surely as it did her husband's. With a triumphant air he strode to the boys and pointed his wand at the first. This was his defining moment; this so called prophecy, this goblin on his back, would be _negated_. And with this act of murder, no one would _dare_ question _his_ authority again.

The tip of his wand glowed green; the curse sailed the two feet of distance between it and the boy's forehead in an almost slow motion sequence. Voldemort let loose a cry of victory that quickly turned into a roar of pain.

An inch, a mere inch of distance away from the child's face the curse rebounded upon Voldemort and exploded. The roof blew away in a storm of shingle, plank and toothpick. The boy who was targeted, Harry, was blown across the room as a lightning bolt-shaped cut bled profusely.

Voldemort could feel nothing but pain. He watched in terror as his body disintegrated before his very eyes. With naught but his soul, Voldemort blindly and thoughtlessly flew into the night.

Meanwhile the explosion caused the floor to fall out from underneath James. With a cry he fell to the ground floor and the only thing that kept him from crushed on the floor or skewered upon a rogue plank was his father's wand, which, held tightly in his hands, had turned said plank into a mass of soft, warm blankets.

* * *

_"To love for the sake of being loved is human, but to love for the sake of loving is angelic."_  
-Alphonse de Lamartine

The fact that only she saw the house explode in a dazzling display of venomously green, electric light caused Sister Agnes Fishburne much distress. Well, she wasn't the only one, but the ones that did ran back to their homes screaming at the top off their lungs, wanting nothing to do with this most unfortunate event.

But what alarmed her most was the large, sparkling green skull and snake hovering above the homes' rooftops.

Convinced though she was that the devil himself had tarnished the residents of this particular house, and she was by far not the most trained in exorcism, she knew she had to help somehow. Agnes stumbled up the walk and gasped at the way the wrought-iron gates were blown away. It was odd, she thought, that it was smashed _towards_ the house, rather than _away_.

The cries of a child lured her from further investigation and she quickly ran towards the source. There, huddled no more than a few steps from what had to be the body of his father was an infant boy huddled into a soft pile of blankets. Agnes grasped the crucifix at her neck and whispered a grateful prayer to Christ that the boy miraculously survived. She carefully took the child in her hands, looked him over for injury, and noticed him holding a stick of wood firmly in his right hand and a name tag on his sleeping shirt; _James Dean Potter, Jr._

"Oh, you poor thing," she crooned. His black hair was tussled and his face was all red from crying. Agnes wiped the tears from his eyes and the snot from his nose on her habit as she whispered to him soothingly. "Hush now, little Jimmy, you're all fine, hm?"

Almost as if he understood what she said, his face broke its frown and he grabbed the silver crucifix around her neck.

"Do you like it? It's a sign of our Lord and savior, he must have saved you! Are you thanking Christ?"

The answer came when he yanked hard on the chain and blew a raspberry. "Oh, well you saved _yourself_ then? With what, a fancy stick of wood?"

Then she a closer look at it. "My word, is this a wand? What the devil…" Upon trying to get a hold of it to observe it closer, his little fist gripped it as if his life depended on it.

Giving up trying to look at the supposed wand, Agnes took a look out the window, and, noticing that no one else was coming to this desecrated home to help, she took the boy and left, before any more demons could come and finish the job.

* * *

"_Man can live about forty days without food, about three days without water, about eight minutes without air, but only for one second without hope"_

-Author Unknown

-**two hours later, 11:37…**

James came to as he felt a hand pushing his shoulder, dragging him out of unconsciousness. His whole body felt like it'd been ran over by the Hogwarts Express and his vision blurred, intensifying his headache. '_What did I drink and how much_?'

"Dada," the voice of the hand-shaker babbled.

"Five more minutes, mum…"

"Dada!"

"Wah…?"

"DADA!"

"AAAHHH! I'm up, I'm- Harry?" James looked around confusedly, but when he noticed half his house blown away and the bleeding, lightning bolt cut on his son's forehead, it all flooded back. Voldemort, dying, Lily…

"Oh Merlin…" He scooped Harry into his arms and scrambled up the staircase. "LILY!"

Flying into the twins room, his Auror-trained eye scanned every inch, analyzing and criticizing every inch in the whole of three seconds. His other son was gone, most like fallen through the wide hole in the flooring. His wife was on the floor, impaled by a plank of wood, moaning in pain.

"_**LILY**_!"

* * *

_On a sunny day in the middle of the night, two dead boys got up to fight._

_With their backs turned they faced each other, drew their swords and shot one another._

_A deaf cop heard the noise, came running and killed the two dead boys…_

"_**LILY**_!?"

"Uhn… what?" Lily Potter' head swam as she opened her eyes. Her blurry vision cleared and faded to the drum beats her heart was pounding in her skull and with each thump her headache worsened. She rubbed her temples and forced herself to sit up, but collapsed as she felt pain searing through her abdomen. "James? What happened?"

Over the muted snare drum pounding her brain she heard James stumble through the door way, a strangely quiet Harry on his hip, or was it Jamie? Her vision blurred to almost black, but she was certain that she had not closed her eyes.

"Oh- oh Merlin's beard, Lily! Oh God, oh no… where's James? James! JAMIE!! Lily, where is James!?"

"James? What is wrong?"

"What's going on? James? Lily!?"

"Sirius?"

"Yeah!"

"Sirius, help me!"

"Prongs, what's- oh, _Merlin's beard_."

Somehow, Lily managed to move her arm across her stomach, and almost threw up when she felt something warm, wet, and sticky coming out of her navel. She didn't need eyesight to know it was blood, and her own at that, and something _sharp_. "Why am I bleeding?"

"Siri, take Harry, look for Jamie. He's missing! Ask around town, search the woods, call the cops! Owl Mad-Eye! And Dumbledore! I'm taking Lily to Mungo's! Got that?"

"James! Why am I bleeding? Where is Jamie! Answer me!"

"Shh, sweetie, don't talk. I'm taking you to St. Mungo's. Just hold on, Lily. Please hold on."

And with the words of comfort from James, her entire world went black…


	2. Chapter 2: Hit the LIGHTS!

Okay, now we hit the real story... things from the original Harry Potter have changed considering he has a twin now, so please don't just jump and say, "Why is this different?! AHHHH!!!" Because I promise you, I WILL explain it, and I WILL make it clear, or else my name isn't... well names aren't important in beginning-of-chapter notes, semantics are.

Disclaimer: I own nothing in this, not even the characters I made up. They are now technically a part of J.K. Rowling's beautifully crafted universe, and they are now hers. In fact, I would not be mad if she'd use themin the event of another HP book, in fact, I'd be kinda flattered...

Acknowledgments: To my now former beta, GinervaMWeasley, who before getting swamped was an awesome editor, and quite frankly still is. To Clare-Stovald, who reviewed the story first and foremost- I give you an interweb hug, a kiss and various other surprises(maybe I'll put her in the storywith her permission of course)=) To ProngsDeluxe and all the other people who's names I forgot because I deleted the alert email's- You didn't review, but you added it to your alerts so that means you liked something, right? You earned your spot the lazy way, and I respect it.

Recommended Listening:

_**Hit The Lights**_

**Artist:Metallica**

** album:****Kill 'em All**

circa July 29, 1983

This song is what got me to thinking about how to introduce James and his two best buds, Brian and Travis(get used to them, there sticking around for a while). That is how it inspired the chapter, now listen to it, get yer eardrums raped, and see how it can inspire YOU to BE A BETTER WRITER

enjoi

ps- anybody wanna beta that thinks they can actually beta? I'm reeling from my loss and need a new shoulder to cry on...

...

_**11 September, 1988-5:59 a.m.**_

James Dean Potter woke up on the morning of September eleventh, 1988 with sense of purpose and pride. It was one of his best friends Travis Barker's birthday today and he had the perfect present. His other best friend Brian Gates was in on it and together they were going to make a prank that no one at St. Bernadette's orphanage were going to forget in a long time.

He glanced across the boy's dormitory and noticed everyone asleep. For an orphanage, it was pretty well off. The dormitories for the kids were very open and wide, with large windows granting a view of the Priory's grounds and the New York skyline. The wooden floors were lacquered, and thus were polished regularly to keep the shine. The walls were all covered in art that the children got to paint on them; James hated it, it seemed too bright and childish. The high ceiling was supported by artfully placed support beams in a gothic style architecture.

While the boys' sleeping area was nice, James knew the girls' dormitories were even better. '_Those old bat nuns like them better, always have, always will._' He looked at the clock next to his cot and smiled.

'_Must have beaten the old hags to waking up_,' he thought dryly with a snort. Getting out of bed, he quickly and quietly pulled off his sleeping clothes and opened his footlocker. He pulled out a black t-shirt, a pair of ripped up black jeans, a pair of ratty old Nike trainers, a New York Jets sweater and a pair of stolen sunglasses. He marveled at the logo on the t-shirt, an electric chair with lightning sparking wildly around it, with the words _**Metallica**_ on the top center and _**Ride The Lightning**_ near the bottom center.

"Oh, Metallica, how I love you so," he whispered happily. "_With all our screaming, gonna rip right through your brain_," he sang quietly as he dressed himself. "_We got the lethal power, it's causing you sweet pain, oh, sweet pain_…"

'_God, I'm such a dork…' _He thought to himself.

"Do you mind? I'm trying to get some sleep before old bats-for-brains wakes us up," a voice grumbled from under the covers of the cot to James's right.

"Aw, shuddup, Brian, we got to get up so we can go over the final touches of Travis's birthday prank."

"Wake up, wake up! All of you sinful heaps, get UP!" a high pitched voice barked from the dormitories hall door.

"Awwwhahaaaah…" Brian moaned sadly.

"Get up, I say!" Sister Harriet cawed madly.

He pulled his sheets back to reveal his angular face with contradicting chubby cheeks. His dark, chocolate brown hair was shaggy and straight, sticking out all over the place. "That's all I need at this time of morning," he grumbled angrily as he dug out the Pantera t-shirt he wore the day before from under his cot. Giving it a whiff, he put an 'It'll pass' look on his face and shrugged. "Still smells halfway fresh," he muttered as he pulled it on.

James looked him straight in his hollow brown eyes. "That, buddy, is why I love you. Let's go get Travis. "

…

"MASTER! MASTER!"

The peculiar, fast-paced music drawled out of the Ford Lumina's speakers in a low whisper as they drove along wizarding New York's streets. James believed he heard the radio host call the band "Metallica."

But what did he care?

James couldn't believe the luck! Dumbledore found his son and now he and Lily were already on their way to pick him up! He was excited, he going to have his son back, the son he named after himself! He was also nervous, because what if James Dean didn't like him? Or was a bore? This scared him witless. What if his son was a muggliefied Christian freak who wanted to see his own parents burned at the stake?

"Sweetheart, you're nervous," Lily admonished from her spot in the front seat. She grabbed her left thigh with both hands and pulled it into a more comfortable position.

"What?"

"You're tapping your fingers on the wheel, bouncing your leg to the beat of this horrible music, and you're eyes are looking at something about a million kilometers away."

"**10 miles to your destination," **The WizPS(Wizarding Positioning System, something that only Lily could figure out,) intoned from the gray plastic dash.

"Oh." '_I am_?'

Lily put her hands on his shoulders and massaged them lightly. "Relax. He's going to love us. Harry does."

"Harold grew up with us and those pigs you call a sister and brother-in-law. James is growing up in a Muggle orphanage. A _religious_ _monastery_," he emphasized. He looked up at the road signs, as he sighed.

**Exit To Muggle Manhattan, Next Left**

"This is the one, James. It's not a monastery, it's an orphanage. And James Jr. will be fine. He _is_ fine. He'll accept his heritage and we'll be happy. You're just overdramatizing like always," Lily smiled at the deprecating joke she made at her husband's expense. She knew it'd relax him.

"**5 miles to your destination." **The WizPS intoned.

James turned the car off the wizarding highway with a genuine smile plastered on his face. "Oh gee, thanks love!"

"You're welcome, mate," a voice drawled from the back seat. "You do know me and Moony are trying to sleep?" Sirius sat up from his reclined position. After all the years of working as an Auror, he still maintained his roguishly handsome appearance and bad boy attitude. "Oi, these American wizards sure are more in tune with muggle culture and technology than us in the U.K."

"You're not kidding, Padfoot. Wizard Highways? Why can't we Floo? Or Apparate?"

"**2 miles to your destination." **The WizPS intoned again.

"Because highways and streets and big, bad cars are, and always will be part of American history and culture. And the American Ministry of Magic wants to encourage a better understanding of the muggle way of life. Keeps groups like Death Eaters from persecuting muggleborns," Remus piped in groggily. He yawned wildly, stretching the pale scars on his face and making them more pronounced. "Merlin's beard, it was a long night."

Both Remus and Sirius we're out late the night before, because of Remus' "furry little problem." Lily assured them that she and James could handle picking up their wayward son, but they were adamant.

"I'm not missing out on the first chance to meet my Godson," Remus had insisted. Sirius, being James' twin brother, Harry's godfather, made a similar argument. So, after a long night of romping through the woods around Potter Manor, James, Lily, Remus, and Sirius took an international portkey to Wizarding Washington, D.C. They rented a Wizard Car, and hit the road from there using the WizPS.

"Oi, Remus, mate, you need to sleep. We got about another hour or so before we're even going to get to see him," James replied. He turned the car down a new street.

"I'm fine, I've slept long enough. And what is this noise you're listening to?"

"Some American band named Metallica. Apparently they're pretty big here in America."

"MASTER! MASTER!"

"I dunno, Moony, I kinda like it."

"You would, Padfoot."

"James likes it too, I think," Lily took a look at the WizPS.

"You have reached your destination," the dreadful thing finally intoned.

"Looks like we're here!"

…

"…Shut up, Trav, you're gonna get us caught!" Brian whispered violently.

"But you can't cross those wires! Green is positive, black is negative, white is neutral! If you touch the bare green with the bare black, you'll fry us and blackout this entire side of Manhattan! Use your head James!" The boy addressed as Trav, Travis Barker, whispered violently. He was tall, but nowhere near thin. Light toned chocolate skin covered muscles that Travis had worked on building for hours before going to bed. "I wanna be as ripped as Arnold," he would repeat as he did his sit-ups, pushups, and up-downs. He kept his thick, curly hair in dreadlocks braided in a ponytail down his neck.

"Would you both be quiet? I'm almost done here…" James retorted from his prone position underneath the orphanages' electrical cabinet. Pulling his shaggy red bangs from out of his eyes, he continued. "I'm not gonna fry nobody, Travis, so forgeh' about it. Just calm down."

"And what exactly are you supposed to be doing?" Travis asked from his guard point by the orphanage basement stairs. He chanced a look around the dark, mangy old basement cluttered with old furnaces, tools, and gardening equipment. He took a glance over at Brian, by the window, who seemed to be remotely interested in something.

"It's a surprise, remember? _For your birthday_? Now shut yer trap, I'm workin' here," came James' terse reply.

"It's gonna be eeeeeepic, Trav, trust me. And trust Jimmy Dean, he's got it all worked out," Brian piped in from his watch out from the basement peep-out window. Turning back around, he continued his watch as a lime green car came pulling up the church drive. It parked, and a tall black haired man got out of the driver's seat and opened the trunk. Something about the guy reminded him of someone…

"Don't call me Jim. It makes me sound old," James whispered. He cursed and dropped his Mag-lite flashlight as sparks flew from a fuse that he accidently brushed the black wire across. Wiping his dirty fingers on the ratty old New York Jets sweater, he picked the dented black shaft back up. Stuffing the scratched metal base in his between his teeth and grasping a pair of Donnie's old electrical wire cutters, he resumed his work, unfazed by the near death experience.

"Be careful," Travis hissed. "Why couldn't you steal me a Metallica t-shirt and some new guitar strings like a normal friend?" Travis looked nervously up the staircase to make sure Donnie Way or any of the nunnery's Sisters wasn't coming down. "This is stupid."

"'Cause kwe ain't normaw,"James answered over the small flashlight he stuffed in his mouth. "You' gow'n love eet, Twavis."

"'Ain't' ain't a word and I ain't gonna say it no more," Brian teased. The black haired guy was now joined by an even taller, remarkably more handsome man with long, curly black hair and a shabby looking guy who was easily the shortest and stockiest, his face covered in long scars and short stubble. He kinda reminded Brian of a bum. His attention was pulled away from watching the strange visitors by James' retort.

"Blow offuh, Bwine," James gagged. Crossing a few more wires and stuffing some fuses in his torn and dirty jean pockets, he dragged himself out from beneath the cabinet. Now, let's hit the lights and scram, before Donnie gets here. Time?"

Brian gazed at his stopwatch. "Three minutes, thirty-nine seconds. We got less than a minute before Mother Agnes and Donnie find out what happened to the power and get down here on all 'God's Horses."

"Aight," James said quickly, gathering his stuff. "Hit the lights, man."

Looking up from his watch, Brian pulled the lever on the cabinet's power console and gave James a thumbs up. "I saw this group of guys pull up to the front as you was down there, Jamie Dean."

"Oh, yeah? So?" James asked as he put all of his items back in a tool box and his pockets.

"I dunno. They kinda looked familiar. Like I've seen 'em before."

"Get real," Travis interjected as they snuck up the banister and through the archway of the main church hall. "You're parents ain't coming for you as well mine and Jamie Dean's."

"I didn't mean it like that, it just… I dunno. We'll see. I wander who's gettin' kidnapped next, I wonder?"

"Can't say," James drawled as they walked down the middle aisle of the main church. Twice as tall, and three times as wide as the dormitories, it could easily hold over a thousand worshippers. "We gotta get outta here, mass starts in about thirty minutes."

Exiting the church hall, they tight-lipped their mouths and packed close together. They did this because they were what everyone else considered to be "freaks." The other boys in the orphanage refused to come near them, the girls were the dominant sex in the orphanage and picked on them incessantly, and almost all the nuns hated them. The sisters were the worst, if anything, calling them blasphemers, demons, and Christless sons of Satan's harlots.

It seemed like their only allies in their world was Mother Agnes, the old, weathered lifelong nun who brought James to the orphanage in the first place, Donnie Way, the groundskeeper, and Father Duke, the Head of the entire St. Bernadette's Catholic Priory.

Speaking of Donnie Way, he was in the front of the grounds as they walked up, pouring mulch around an old yew tree.

James loved Donnie Way. He was twenty-three and had moved to New York with his parents when his dad got a job as a sales rep. He was short, barely passing five foot seven, but he was buff and gave Travis workout tips. His long, golden blonde hair came down past his shoulders and tended to fall down into his bright, grey-blue eyes. Wiping his hands off on his dirty, plain white t-shirt and jeans, he smiled at them.

"Little brahs," he drawled in his Californian surfer bum accent. "What's going on, little dudes?"

"Not much, just working on Travis's birthday present," Brian answered with a goofy grin.

Donnie looked confused. "With him with you? That is weeeeiiiiird, man."

"Not really," James replied. He sat on the grass and pulled out some grass, twisting it around his fingers. "We worked on it, but he doesn't know what it is."

"Spiffy," Donnie quipped, getting back to work. "You picking that guitar up every night like I asked?"

"Yeah, but it needs new strings," James laughed.

"What? Then how come you didn't make that my birthday thing like I asked?"

"Because this so much better, mein freund," James spoke in his limited knowledge of German. "So, so much better…"

…

_**I, James Dean Potter and my good friend Brian Samuel Gates would like to wish our mutual good friend Travis Jermaine Barker a Very Happy, Mass-Free Birthday!**_

_**Ps- Rest in Peace, Cliff Burton!**_

Mother Agnes couldn't believe her eyes. The electronic board that Father Duke had bought to showcase mass times and church events, was turned into a billboard by eight year olds…

"Vandalism, this is! VANDALISM! Those three little devils have done it again! You cannot protect them from this, Mother!" Sister Tabitha seethed. Clenching and unclenching her habit, her cold grey eyes spat poison as she glared at her superior.

Agnes shook her head. Did those three know no bounds?

"You mean to tell me this doesn't in the slightest anger you!? You're not even shocked to see the lengths they've taken this time?"

"Quite frankly, my dear sister, I'm more shocked that they even know what the word 'mutual' means."

Tabitha's jaw hit the lawn. Agnes couldn't help but think that the fish-eyed look didn't suit Tabitha as well as she thought…

"Wha-you-this-this is outrageous! I am telling the Father about this!"

"Yes, please do, sister. And find Donald Wayland, if you would also? I think he missed a spot when over by the yew trees when he mowed the lawn yesterday."

With a huff, the sister stormed away scowling. "Muttering old bat, she is…" Tabitha spoke quietly to herself.

Agnes shook her head as she watched the woman walk away. Sometimes these nuns got too worked up…

"Mother Agnes!" Agnes turned to the voice of one of the younger nuns coming to her. "Moth- Mother Agnes…"

"Catch your breath, dear child. Whatever has you in such a fuss?" The girl gasped for breath as Agnes wiped the sweat from her brow with her habit.

"There are people here, say they are from Britain; they want to see that Potter boy…"

"James? Oh, dear… yes, well send them up to my office, right away."

…

Agnes no more than closed the door to her office and sat at her desk when someone knocked. "You're expected."

A man opened the door, followed by two others, who all walked in. "May I take a seat?" the first man, a tall, handsome man with short-cropped black hair asked as his shabbier looking fellow closed the door behind him gently.

"Of course, please," she said without looking up. She had to get the adoption papers in order. "What's your name, sir?"

"James Potter."

Agnes Fishburne's life came to a screeching halt. Slowly, she looked up at the man's face and swore she had a heart attack. There, sitting in the chair across from her desk was James Dean's dead father. Only, he wasn't all that dead…

"Are you alright, miss? You look like you've seen a dementor."

"What? Oh, uh, um. Yes, yes I'm fine," she stammered, completely missing over the fact that she had literally no idea what a dementor was." You are here for James, yes?"

DUN DUN DUN, SISTER AGNES IS GONNA BE JUDGED... just kidding. Well what does yous think? My professional opinion is that I really like acid pops. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, kinda get the something out and take your epic fail with you please, thank you.

Insanity. Now optional!


	3. Chapter 3: Worlds Collide

Okaaaayy... whats going on, my small community of readers? Here is the third full-feature chapter of the first installment of the James Dean Potter chronology. Oh yeah, I'm taking this AU story FAR, kid. I hope you like this one, 'cause it has gone unbeta-ed. Unedited(*mostly*) from the original written text. By the way, if anyone wants to step up and BE my beta, go ahead and hit me up. But you must be able to get back to me within a day or two, not a 4 or 5, or a WEEK, like the beta I'm SUPPOSED to have...

_Recommended Listening:_

_**Worlds Collide, **_Apocalyptica

Album: Worlds Collide

Circa 2008

Awesome album, awesome artists, and they do it with naught but four cellos. I chose this because, frankly, this where James Dean's and his parents' worlds collide with smashing (literally, just wait 'til next chapter) effect. The song has a sense of foreboding, and a sense that something big is about to happen, not just soon, but later in the future, as well.

Acknowledgements:

The usual Clare Stovold, for being not just the number one, but like, the ONLY die-hard fan of this thing. With much mutual deliberation, she is now officially gonna be a character, only later on. See what can happen when you review? You get your soul sucked in and end up BEING a part the story. Good God, what ever could happen?

To ProngsDeluxe, ShinoHina4Eva(haha, Naruto rocks...), MochaCocoaFan, and various others for adding this to their "Alerts" list. Lazy, but it gets the pont across bluntly and cleanly, right? "I like reading this story, eh?"

Not that I'm saying that they're Canadian.

To my ex-beta, for whom this story would not be here if she weren't there to slap my internet head and say, "You're doing it wrong!"

So, here it is. There is some drama, some happiness, and an exciting finish to this chapter, so I hope your ready.

ENJOI, FREELOADERS!

ps, I'd just like to say that reviews ARE awesome, so... you know?

…

James plucked the strings of the old wooden guitar gently and slowly, playing to the flow of some random beat in his head. "You think they've noticed yet?"

Brian looked out the window next to his cot. "Yeah, most likely. I thought I heard ole' fish face screaming earlier."

"Can I please just know what this prank-slash-birthday present is?"

"Sorry, Traver. You ain't getting to see it 'til Father Duke takes us out there and asks us why we did such a stupid thing."

"You suck," Travis muttered as he pulled off his Pantera t-shirt and rummaged through his trunk. "Shoulda just stole me something…" he breathed as he pulled out a plain white sleeveless shirt. Throwing it on over his head, he laid down by his bed and started doing sit-ups.

James started playing the random tune a bit faster. "We're gonna get in so much trouble. It'll be awesome, man," James said dreamily, a small smile playing onto his face.

"If you say so…"

James had finally increased the speed of the tune to the fastest it could be played acoustically, playing his hand up and down the worn, smooth neck as the melody danced across his mind. Then, suddenly, the song in his head stopped, and he threw the guitar on the floor. A boy from down the line of beds gave him a dirty look, but Brian just stuck his tongue out at him.

"That was random," a voice from behind them laughed. A woman with red hair, green eyes and who was in a wheelchair rolled toward them.

All three of turned to look at her. The first thought that came to James' mind was that she was strikingly beautiful, not in the way a Jets cheerleader or supermodel, but rather something he couldn't put his finger on, homier, maybe? She seemed familiar, in a way.

'_What is wrong with me_?' he thought to himself. '_I don't think of _girls_ as _pretty_… they're a bunch of manipulative worms…_'

"Who taught you to play?" the woman asked. Her accent screamed British. It was smooth as velvet, yet it had a hint of huskiness that made it that much more comforting.

"Who put you in a wheelchair?" He felt the defensive mode click on. She was making him think things he didn't want to think. An insult here, a rude remark there, and she'd be long gone, off to adopt some other kid, and he and Travis and Brian would return to waiting for Father Duke…

The woman laughed. '_She wasn't supposed to laugh!_'

"A question for a question, eh? I'll make you deal, little one. You answer mine first, and then I'll answer yours."

"…" James shut his mouth with a huff. He folded his arms and turned away.

"Well?"

"Donnie Way taught us," Brian spoke up.

"Oh, I see. He's the young groundskeeper here, is he not?"

"Yes, ma'am." Brian answered again.

"Well, I was crippled when a man attacked me. The resulting aftermath caused me to fall and I snapped my spine, just above my hips," she explained smoothly, as if it was nothing. She ran her hands through her hair, and as she smoothed it out, she gave James a big smile. It was like she wasn't even fazed about talking about her accident…

"Either you're lying, lady, or you're leaving a lot of facts out of your little story."

A look of déjà vu came over face, and she stared off for a second, deep in thought. Then she gave him that same big smile, looking him straight in the eyes. "I know, but I can't tell the whole story to you now, James Dean."

James held a mask of indifference as she said his name. "How do you know my name?" he asked, though it hardly sounded like a question.

"Because I'm your mother."

…

"… It was almost seven years when Father Duke sent me on Sabbatical. I went to the Vatican and prayed, partook in the masses, the whole deal. I got on a plane to come home, but due to mechanical trouble the pilot was forced to land in London. Since all flights were back-logged due to strange weather-related issues for a whole week, I went across the British countryside, taking in the sights," Agnes told the three men named James, Sirius, and Remus.

'_Mechanical trouble, strange weather, all sounds like Voldemort's doing…_' James thought indignantly. He leaned forward in interest as the elderly nun continued, wringing her habit as she did.

"I came into the town of Godric's Hollow on the third night, Halloween."

"And you saw James's house get attacked," Sirius asked, leaning forward in his seat. "You saw the Dark Mark."

She looked confused as to what a "dark mark" could be, but she answered honestly, and without question. "Well, I saw the house be blown into pieces, yes. But a dark mark? If you mean that green light in the shape of a satanic moniker, then yes, I did see that, too."

"Satanic? Moniker?" Remus piped up, confused.

"Not now, Moony. So, please, Mother Fishburne, continue," James urged, looking at her intensely and hoping he wouldn't have to obliviate her memory.

"I came into the house, looking to help. Everyone else who saw it ran away, while others seemed, well, blind to it. I saw little James huddled into a very randomly placed assortment of blankets, no more than two feet from you, Mr. Potter. He was crying and wailing and I had to do something, so I picked him up and took him with me, because it looked like no one else was coming to help. I'm so sorry, Mr. Potter, if I had known that you were alive I would have-"

"Ma'am," James interrupted softly, while taking the nun's hands into his own. "You don't have anything to apologize for, I'm just glad James is okay. You were only trying to help."

"Thank you," Mother Agnes sighed, her rigid frame sagging with relief. "Oh, and James was holding on to something _rather_ curious…" she trailed as she dug through her desk drawers. "Ah, here it is."

She produced a long, artfully carved wooden stick made of mahogany.

"That's your-"

"Family heirloom," James interrupted Sirius while grabbing the wand and stuffing it into his coat pocket. Agnes looked confused about his strange change in behavior. "Look, can we just see him?"

Shaking her dumbfoundedness, she replied. "Of course, follow me."

…

"So if you're really my mom, then why am I here, in an orphanage?"

The late summer, afternoon air blew Lily's dark red hair as she considered how to tell the story. She and James went outside for a walk while they spoke, and she simply adored the priories rural like grounds. The yew tree seemed to be a dominant part of the grounds, and they were stunning in the late summer, early autumn stage.

"Well, Jamie, it's a long story, shall we stop and I'll tell you it under that large oak tree?"

"Sure," James replied.

Smiling, she rolled her wheelchair down the paved concrete path, on over to the large tree, locked her wheelchair wheels, and took off her fingerless riding gloves.

'_Here's the moment of truth_,' she thought. '_Time to tell him his destiny…_'

"Well," she started, "It began on Halloween, where we were attacked by a very bad man. He was a wizard," she said matter-of-factly.

"A wizard," James asked slowly, dubious and no longer interested. "You gotta be kiddin' me."

"No, I'm not kidding, and I'll prove it," Lily defended, pulling out her wand. "Know what this is?"

"Um, an artfully sculpted stick?" he guessed sarcastically, with a shrug.

"Funny comment, James, but no. It's a wand, and wands can do this," she retorted as she pointed the wand at a leaf and it turned into a large, fluffy St. Bernard.

James, stupefied, stood there silent and unmoving.

"Dude," James muttered. "Do it again," he demanded. He was looking at the dog intensely, as if not convinced with what he saw.

Pointing her wand in the air, she summoned a plate of cookies and ice cold milk. "Help yourself to a snack," she laughed, and with a smile said, "And pour me a glass of that milk, please? It's hard work pushing yourself around in this thing."

As if on autopilot, he sat and poured two glasses and petted the dog's fur slowly. As it licked his face and he fed it a cookie, he began to ease up.

"Dude, this dog is gonna eat 'em all," he laughed, feeding the large canine another cookie.

"Oh, but he's a good boy, isn't he?" she crooned, rubbing the fur on both sides of his neck, making his ears flop.

"Yeah, he's a pretty good dog for a leaf," he joked. They laughed and finished off the milk in silence. Lily took notice that he did not seemed fazed by her use of magic, and did not seem to want to ask any questions about it. As if he just accepted it as it was, and that was it…

"You're a wizard, too, you know."

"I figured," he stated. Again she marveled at his lad-back demeanor and his ability to take this news head on, as if it was nothing. "I mean, you're a wizard-"

"Witch."

"Witch, and I guess that means my dad is one, so, yeah, I would be too, right?"

"Right," she affirmed with a smile.

Wiping his mouth on the dingy old Jets sweater, he asked, "Anyway, you were saying? About this bad guy?"

"Ah, yes, well, he came after us trying to kill us, the entire family."

James noted her saying "entire" family, but stored that piece of information for later. Was there more, like grandparents, aunts, uncles, _siblings_?

"He almost killed us, but we survived. Unfortunately, you were brought here."

"By Mother Agnes," he finished.

"Yes, I believe she brought you here in an attempt to save you."

He looked at her in the eye, and she swore she watched reading her mind. She also noted that it was as if it was her eyes staring back her, as if a she was looking into a mirror. He looked like what she would have looked if she were a boy.

He finally seemed to find what he was searching for. "I believe you," he said honestly. "Then what happened?"

"Well, it was a couple days later that I woke up…"

…

_**November 5, 1981-4:01 p.m.**_

The first thing Lily Potter felt as she woke was pain. Her stomach felt like it was on fire and she almost screamed from the feeling. Her face contorted from the effort and after a few moments, the sensation started to fade away. As she calmed down, she began to get a feel for her body and suddenly she wished she was feeling the unbearable pain in her abdomen again.

"Oh, you must be awake. My name is Timothy House, healer. I'm your happy little attending resident here in St. Mungo's Intensive Care Unit," a dry, almost uncaring voice drawled from her bedside.

"I can't feel my legs. Why can't I feel my legs!?" she screamed. She opened her eyes and looked at the doctor. He looked remarkably like a Malfoy, with his cold, gray-blue eyes and tall, thin body. His face was seemingly cut from marble. The only reason she knew he wasn't a Malfoy other than his name was the fact that his eyes were wide and open, not the signature slitted, narrow orbs of the Malfoy lineage. He also didn't seem to conform to the typical dress of a Healer, and thus the standards of a Malfoy, as he was wearing not the typical white robes of a Healer, but rather a muggle style outfit with a black button down shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

"That would be because of the plank of wood that sheered through your spine," House pointed out, as if this was common knowledge. "You see, whenever the spinal column is sev-"

"Oh, shut it, smartass! What in Merlin's name happened to me?" she asked as she glanced across her room. There were flowers, stuff hippogriffs, and various other colorful well wishing gifts with cards placed across the room. One of them, a Quidditch-themed, stuffed sphinx with a miniature flying model of a black and yellow flyer on a broom announced quietly, "Get well soon, Lily, and wake up! Signed Dearly, Ludo!"

"You were attacked, by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Somehow you survived a killing curse. Somehow your cottage blew up and you were impaled in the abdomen by a two-by-four, which severed you spine. The emergency room surgeons worked hard and repaired most of the nerve damage, but I don't think you're going to be partaking in the Tour de France any time soon."

"And my husband? My boys?"

All of a sudden, Albus Dumbledore appeared at the door to the room. "Oh, Miss Potter, you've woken. I believe I can answer your questions, Lily. Healer House, if I may have a moment alone with the lady Potter?" Dumbledore asked.

"Sure, I can just do my daily standard check through at sixteen-hundred hours at sixteen-thirty. Or, you know, later. The director is going to-"

"Thank you, Timothy, I most appreciate it I know you never follow Madame Eddely's orders most of the time anyway, so I'm sure she'll understand. Now Lily," he started as a disgruntled House left the room. He took a seat at Lily's bedside before starting. "You and James have survived a horrible ordeal-"

All of a sudden, the memories from Halloween flooded back to Lily. Voldemort, James, dying… "Oh God, Harry! James junior! Oh please tell me they're okay!"

"Harry is fine. He is staying with your sister Petunia and her husband, Vernon, while you and James recuperate," Albus explained, completely neglecting to mention anything about James Jr. Lily could feel a sense of dread on the coming subject. Voldemort killed her other son, or kidnapped him or…

"And Jamie? Please tell me he didn't get Jamie!"

"James Dean has gone missing."

"WHAT?! That _monster_ kidnapped my baby?!"

"Possibly, but I think that is the more unlikely prospect. You see, Voldemort has disappeared and his followers, the Death Eaters, are in complete disarray. I believe that when his killing curse flew at Harry, it rebounded at him," Dumbledore stipulated in his usual, cool self.

"So you think he's dead? Then where is my Jamie?"

"I'm getting there, Lily, just calm down," Albus soothed, taking her smooth-skinned hand into his weathered old one and gently squeezed.

"Okay," she breathed. Tears rimmed her eyes as she struggled to remain calm. "I'm fine. I am fine. I'm a paraplegic, I lost my eldest son, I'm only twenty-something, wait, how old am I?"

"Twenty-one," Dumbledore answered with a smile.

"Twenty-one! I'm only twenty-one, but I'm fine. I'm fine."

Deciding to ignore her rambling, the Professor continued. "Voldemort, I think, is not dead. He is a powerful wizard who is well… _versed_ in the dark arts," Albus continued. Lily, despite the distraction of pain and loss of sensation, noticed Dumbledore's hesitation." I think he has lost most of his power and his body, but I fear he is still alive and, for the most part, well. Now, the rest of the Order and I are working overtime trying to locate him and track down the remaining Death Eaters."

Latching on to Dumbledore's hesitation to explain the specifics of Voldemort's alleged immortality, Lily jumped at the chance for a better explanation. "So you think somehow he is out there, plotting a return, despite being hit by a killing curse?"

"You're knack for picking things up from a person mind by conversation continues to amaze me," Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, I am certain of it."

"And how exactly did the killing curse rebound on Voldemort? Why aren't me and James dead?"

"Ah, I did some research to find out why something so phenomenal would happen. It turns out that the original Lord Potter, Armand, performed some rather intricate and truly wonderful magic to protect himself, his heirs, and his wife, Corvina Malfoy. Whenever a person with malicious intent towards a Potter enters any Potter residence, that persons magic is next to nullified- his killing curse gave you and James nothing more than a the equivalent of a gut punch," Dumbledore shifted in his seat. "Now, why that curse rebounded from Harry back to Voldemort continues to elude me. He is just fine, staying with your sister, Petunia at the moment."

"And James?"

"He is fine, my dear, resting back at Potter Manor under the supervision of Mr. Lupin."

"The other James, Dumbledore. Quit walking around the subject and explain what you think, please."

"Like I said, missing. Sirius Black and Kingsley Shacklebolt are out right now looking for little James, as we speak. They're training as Aurors, I think, should help them immensely. I have taken measures to pick up as much information about his whereabouts and I have discovered that although most of the witches and wizards of the Godric's Hollow community ran from the scene in terror at the first sign of the Dark Mark, a single person was seen running toward your place of residence. I believe this person saw you, James, or both lying unconscious and thought of you for dead, thus seeing little James, and thought they were saving him.

"But why didn't this kidnapper see Harry, too?"

"Indeed, why didn't they? But I have a theory for this as, well," Dumbledore paused to clean his half-moon spectacles. He took a great deal of time doing so, as if making sure getting the lenses clean was more important than the current topic.

Annoyed, Lily urged him to carry on. "Please, Albus, continue."

"Ah, I apologize for my imprudence. I _am_ getting old, you know."

"Albus…"

"I'm sorry. Anyway, it was reported at that at nine-thirty seven p.m., an underage wizard by the name of James Dean Potter used a wand to simultaneously transfigure wood into wool and levitate himself. A remarkable feat, I am sure."

"James _used a wand_?"

"Also, James, your husband, not your son, requested to have his wand returned to him; it was never found at the scene. Now, when the curse rebounded upon Voldemort, it caused a fair bit of destruction to your cottage. I believe that young James Dean had possession of James Sr.'s wand, instinctively used it to save himself, and was found lying near his mistakenly deceased father."

As Dumbledore finished, almost like clockwork, a shout was heard from House somewhere outside of the room. "You can't go back there! You don't have clearance!"

"Dumbledore is back there with my wife, I can be there too!" James Potter's voice boomed throughout the ward. "Get out of my way!"

"Oof! Security!"

"Langlock!" James muttered. He walked through the door in a scramble. "Dumbledore, is she- oh, Lily… you're awake…"

"Yes, I am."

"So you, uh… you know?" James asked quietly, running his hands through his hair.

"Yes, James, I do." Lily answered in an even quieter voice.

"Love, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault," he sobbed as he knelt and drew Lily into a hug. "I'm so, so sorry…"

"It's not your fault, Jam. It'll be okay, James," she soothed as she rubbed his back. "It'll be okay."

"I'll find him. I'll find James no matter what."

"I know you will. Look at this! I'm comforting you," Lily laughed. At the sight of disgust on his face, she laughed harder. "I guess we know who wears the pants in this relationship," she giggled. That to break a wall and James laughed with her.

Dumbledore stood, a wide smile on his face. "I think I shall leave you two alone, you have some talking to do."

As he left the room, Dumbledore turned back and looked to James. "I will you to you in the morning with as much information as possible. Oh, and Lily?"

"Yes, Albus?"

He picked up a get well card. "Enjoy the well wishes. You're going to need them," he spoke softly as he read the card. He laughed heartily at it. "Those oddball Weasleys…"

"Thank you."

Silence overtook the room after he left. Lily looked up at James as he stared at the wall.

"James?"

Shaken from his reverie, James looked down at her. "What?"

"Hold me."

Lily began to cry as he pulled her in his arms. "What are we going to do?"

"We're gonna find him. If it's the last thing we do, we are going to find him. We have Dumbledore on our side, friends in the Order, and we have Harry and each other. We have each other, Lily-love, and nothing else matters. Nothing else matters."

…

"So you don't remember anything before waking up?"

"Well, I remember things before the attack, but the attack itself, nothing."

"And you say this moldy wart guy, he tried to kill you but, wait, what?"

"Voldemort, Jamie, Vol-duh-more," She enunciated slowly, making sure his eight-year old mind could keep up. "Yes, but ancient magic wards, things that protect people, were put up on all Potter houses by you super great grandpa Armand and his wife, Corvina-"

"Wait, Corvina? Like corvus, the crow?"

Shocked by his knowledge, Lily stammered, "Raven, but yes, that _is_ where the name comes from. I'm astounded, you are an intelligent boy."

"It's in the jeans," he boasted jokingly, dusting of imaginary dirt from his knees.

Lily laughed at his play on words. "You know how to make puns, too?"

"Pun?" he asked, as if to say he heard the word before but couldn't remember.

"Oh, don't worry about it. Now, where were we? Ah, yes, Armand Potter, he set up these protections with old magic which saved us," Lily continued. And then she decided to drop the next bombshell. "Even you, and your twin brother."

"I see- wait, _brother_? _Twin_?" he looked from her Lily's face to the ground between his feet.

"Harry," she said softly. "He is excited to meet you, as you are to meet him, I hope?"

"_Twin_? I knew you meant something like this when you said 'entire family,' but I was hoping you meant something else. Prayed, even. I already have two brothers."

She knew that hearing this would damage the good start they'd gotten to, but he had to know. Lily's heart went out to him then, because she knew what she and James Sr. were asking him to do. They were almost forcing him to leave behind everything he knew, everyone he loved. It seemed as if the gravity of the situation finally hit him, and he began close up, rocking back and forth on his heels, arms curled around his knees.

"Sweetheart, I know this is hard-"

"You think you know this hard," he muttered darkly. "I don't care if you're my mother," he spat, and Lily cringed when he went from saying 'mom' to 'mother.' "I'm not leaving behind the people who were always there for me. I will _not._"

This is what Lily had feared most. She wanted nothing more to have her son back, but at what cost? "I will not ask you to leave them, then."

"What?" He asked indignantly. Anger bubbled to the surface of his face and he glared at her. "But why would you come here for me then? If you don't want me then what are you doing here telling me all these lies?"

"They are not lies, and believe me, James, I do want you. Ever since I lost you, I have felt empty, your dad and Harry and I love you very much, and we all want you, need you to fill our lives and make it whole," Lily explained, trying to keep her sadness and relief in check. "I have missed you, oh so very much, but I will not tear you from everything you know. I don't want to guilt you into coming either," she told him, as she saw where his thought processes were going. "If you are coming home with me and your father, it'll be because you want to," she explained, with tears in her eyes she no longer could hold back.

"That's… I don't even know…" He got up, sat in her lap and hugged her. She hugged him back and ran her fingers through his hair. '_My hair_,' she thought softly. '_He has my hair_…'

"What do you say we head back to the boys' room and see if you can meet your father."

Feeling a little better, he got up and looked at her with a cocky grin. "Let's go."

…

Walking into the main boys dormitories, Mother Agnes led the men to where James's cot was and saw he wasn't there; instead, Travis and Brian sat on or by their adjacent cots, Travis working out while Brian strummed Donnie's old acoustic.

"Boys, this is James's father, James," Agnes introduced. They looked shocked at first, but then they looked away, as if the adults weren't there anymore. "Mr. Potter, this is Travis Barker and Brian Gates, James's best friends. Boys, where is James?"

"Busy," Travis huffed between push-up reps.

"He went off with a woman in a wheelchair who said she was his mom," Brian said mechanically, not looking up from his guitar. "I thought you looked familiar, I saw you in the window."

"He went off with Lily?" Sirius asked, ignoring the latter thing the boy said.

"I _guess_," the Brian shrugged, indignant that he was ignored.

"Well, it'll be okay," Sirius laughed. "She's a shrink at St. Mu-"

"Maria's, it's in Wiltshire," James cut off Sirius, giving him a glare.

"Yeah, it's a mental facility," Remus added, trying to strengthen the facade.

"I see," Agnes started, but was cut off as James walked in, Lily wheeling in behind him.

"Oh, hi," James Dean said quickly and sarcastically. "You must be my father. What's up?"

"Uhh…"

"Cool, now since I'm not being adopted, you can probably leave."

"What? Of course you're getting readopted. Why-"

"Well, Mom told me I don't have to since I don't want to leave Travis and Brian so… yeah," he said flippantly, plopping down on his cot and pulling out a guitar magazine and flipping it open.

James looked furiously confused. "Oh you _are_ coming home," he seethed. "I have not spent the last six or seven years looking for you just to walk home without you! You're not staying in this muggle prison and be fed lies for the rest of your life!"

"That's all well, and good, and I'd love to leave, but they need me! And I am not fed lies! Religion is my choice, and I choose to be Catholic!"

"Is that what its-"

"Mother Agnes!" a voice shouted from the door. Everyone turned and stared at the young nun, the same who came to Agnes earlier. She blushed slightly at the attention.

"My dear girl, more visitors? Tell them they'll have to wait," Agnes mumbled irritably, knowing that things weren't going well with James and his father. She didn't need them to have any more distractions.

"But ma'am, they too wish to see Potter, too. And they, uh, look exactly like them," she explained, pointing right at James Ignotus Potter.

...

I know what you're saying.

"Oh, come ON man..."

_Cliffhangers. Can't help but hate them, but yet authors, screenwriters, and playwrights alike can't live without 'em._


	4. Chapter 4: Enter Lord Voldemort

Hello again, here is chapter... whatever chapter I'm on! This is probably not so good, but I have done my best without a beta, and I hope you like it. We finally get down to some action, and now we get to see what the Three Kings learned on the streets of Brooklyn.

Recommended Listening:

**Enter Lord Vader-** _John Williams/ London Symphony Orchestra_

_Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith._

Did somebody order the London Symphony Orchestra? C'mon, people, somebody ordered the London Symphony ORCHESTRA... possibly while HIGH!

Anyway, this song ties in towards the end of the chapter, where Moldy Wart makes his first appearance as a ghost/unpossessed spirit.

Enjoi.

…

"Send them in here, James ordered the nun. "Immediately, do not waste time. Tell them they can see him right _now_. Whatever you do, do not come with them, you understand? Lead them to the door and get as far away as possible, they are not who they say they are," James explained further, and the nun nodded and left in a brisk walk.

"What is going on, Mr. Potter?" Mother Agnes asked, though James Dean paid her little attention. He watched as his father went about rounding up the other boys in the dormitory, telling them to go with Lily.

"People are here who wish to harm my son. They aren't going to do so."

James marveled at his father's composure, and how when he talked, everyone listened. How when he barked out orders, everyone not just listened, but _complied_. He wanted to be like that.

"James, you and your friends are going with your mother."

James Dean smiled; as much as he admired it, his father's charisma wasn't going work on him. "Oh, I don't think it's necessary."

James Sr. looked about three seconds from ripping James Dean's head off with his bare hands. "Boy, if you don't-"

"Oh, my son, there you- oh," a woman said. The two James' turned and regarded them, James Sr. looking with rage and James Jr. with utter confusion. How could they look exactly like his mom, dad, and the two men who accompanied him? The woman who looked like his mother lost her smile and got out of her wheelchair, pointing a wand directly at the two of them. "Give me the boy, Potter."

…

Alecto Carrow led her brother Amycus, who was portraying James Potter and the two other Death Eaters impersonators down the hall. The filthy muggle girl dressed in the conservative black dress opened the door and appropriately scampered away, as if she was avoiding plague.

This was the moment. She was going to get the Potters' eldest son, and she and her brother would hold him for ransom; her master's location for the boys life. The Auror's would have no choice, their best agent's son, or the Dark Lord. James Potter would come through, and they would kill both James and his son, and help the Dark Lord reclaim his rightful place. And they would be favored by the Dark Lord, his favorites! They would have their choice of country to rule once he had mastered the world, and Alecto herself had already begun planning how she'd rule Russia.

Rolling into the room, she caught sight of the boy talking to his father. "Oh, my son, there you-oh."

James was talking to his _father_. This was _not_ how it was supposed to _be_! Standing from her now useless disguise, she pointed her wand and steadied herself to face destiny.

…

"Like hell," James answered as he tried to pull James Dean closer to him. But James Jr. had jumped to the other side of his bed and was reaching under the mattress. Gripping the hilt of a shank gangbanger gave Travis, he stood. The woman screamed "Avada Kedavra!" and James fell as James Dean remarkably jumped back over the bed and tackled him, causing the spell to fly mere inches over their heads.

Jumping from his father's back to comfront the nearest man, who was an exact replica of the tallest, handsome man named Sirius, he ducked beneath his outstretched wand a gashed the man in the face.

Travis was next to react, charging the woman and sprawling her into the wheelchair. Sirius and the shabby man followed up by ripping him off her and engaging her in a duel, as all hell broke loose.

By now James Sr. had jumped up and was in an all out duel with the shabby man's replica. Beds flew and glass shattered as they sent spell after spell at each other. Watching from under a cot as James's father was in an all out battle, Brian noticed that James Dean had been picked by the throat of the Sirius imposter. Brian cursed as he saw the real Remus and Sirius struggling with the Lily-fake, and, realizing that no one else was going to help, he was going to have to.

The woman's pointy stick had fallen from her grip and had rolled over to the foot of Chris Allen's bed. Coming out of his hiding hole, he half crawled, half sprinted to it and did a rolling jump to the side of the bed as he gripped it. As he did, rogue spell from Fake-Remus's wand coming within a foot of downing him. Eyes wide, he shuddered at how close he came to almost certain death.

As if on cue, the fake Sirius screamed, "You goin' the pay fah' that, you bloo'y little wankeh!"

Shaking off the jitters, he peeked around the corner and noticed that Fake-Sirius was now tightening his grip and had pulled his hand back, ready to punch the living-daylights out James.

"Don't kill him, he has my shank!" Travis shouted from his cot, and this helped Brian steel himself.

'_Not gonna happen, bro_,' Brian thought ruefully, as he ran and jumped at the tall, handsome imposter. '_So not gonna happen…_'

…

Travis had hit the deck as soon as the spells started flying. '_I am not getting paid enough for this!'_

Crawling to his cot, he rummaged through his footlocker, looking for his shank. Rummaging desperately, he remembered suddenly that James had a shank that he used against the fake Sirius…

"You goin' the pay fah' that, you bloo'y little wankeh!" The fake Sirius screamed as if on cue.

"Don't kill him, he has my shank!" Travis shouted, hoping to distract him.

"Oh, gee, thanks, Travis!" James managed through his strangle. "I'm getting choked to death and you're worried about a fuc-"

"Oof!" the imposter screamed, as if someone had crashed into him.

Travis immediately stood, seeing Brian with a wand, poking the man's eye. The imposter threw Brian off and screamed as he held his bleeding eye. Travis then noticed that the real Remus had dropped his wand, and made a mad dash to pick it up. Just as he got a grip on it, he felt a tugging around his ankles and was dragged towards the imposter.

"Where do ye think yer goin', wee ickle muggle?" the man sneered. He was no longer gripping his left eye, and it bled profusely alongside the gash across his nose, reminding Travis of a horribly real Hellraiser movie.

"Did you guys understand anything he just said?" James asked sarcastically.

"Not really," Travis responded breathlessly.

"Ye shut yer traps, ye little prats!" the man roared, pointing his wand at the three of them as its tip began to glow a venomous green. Both Travis and Brian pointed their liberated wands at the imposter and he laughed. "Ye seriously think a couple Muggles like ye can use tha' 'gainst meh? Avada-"

"STOP!" Travis bellowed, and the man froze. His eyes bulged in surprise, which was obviously the only body part he could move.

Not picking up on the man's blight, Brian screamed, "GET BACK!" and the man flew through the window, down the two stories and landed with a highly audible THUD. Shocked, James, Brian, and Travis looked between each other and back at the window.

"Dude, how did I _do_ that?"

…

Amycus was more than a little angry. If only his fool of a sister hadn't taken so _long_ choosing what to _wear_, this whole thing would have been avoided, and they would have had the Potter rat in the bag _hours_ ago.

But no, here he had to go, playing the savior _again_.

As soon as the fight began, it was clear that Potter and his Auror partner and werewolf friend had been ready for them. It was probably that muggle wench who led them to the hall, yes; she had sold them out…

He had flown back into the hall and had charged up a flight of stairs, coming into the large room directly above the boy's dormitories. Amycus expected an easy way to blow into the room below. He did not expect the girls' dormitory to be the room directly above the boys.

"Excuse me, sir, but are you here to adopt? Mother Agnes never told us anyone was coming today," a girl with curly, golden blonde hair pulled up in pigtails spoke up. Amycus smiled evilly.

"Yes, I am, my darlings," he drawled slowly. "The good mother is a bit busy at the moment, why don't circle me in the center of the room, give me a better look at all of you?"

Oh, this was going to be _fun_.

…

James spun and twirled in his duel the Death Eater disguised as Remus. The man was good, but James was beginning to wear down the man's stamina, and _knew_ the end was near.

Sirius and Remus had finally incapacitated the female imposter, but couldn't jump in immediately for fear that they'd disturb James and end up getting him killed. Circling around the man, they both waited for a chance to jump in and end the life and death battle.

James blocked curse after curse, jinx after jinx as he fought the man and sent one back for each taken. Finally, the man tried to disarm James with an "_Expelliarmus_!" James blocked it expertly and threw one right back, catching the man off guard.

Catching his wand in his free hand, James flicked his wrist. "_Stupefy_!"

The man jerked and plowed into the floor face first, skidding a whole ten feet before finally coming to a stop.

"Nice one, Prongs," Sirius spoke jovially, just before the roof came down around their ears in a chorus of high-pitched, girlish screams.

…

Amycus took little time in doing the spell work necessary to free his comrades and get them on their feet. Quickly grabbing Alecto's bleeding arm, he turned on the spot and disappeared, the Remus imposter quickly following. Appearing outside the orphanage where the Sirius Black impersonator lay, he gripped the man's arm and with a loud crack, he too was gone.

…

Brian spat dust from his mouth and pushed a girl off his back. "Why does stuff like this always happen to us?"

"Because we aren't normal, remember?" Travis retorted as he helped Regina Heifer to her feet. "Jimmy Dean's words, exactly."

"This isn't our normal weird, guys," James spoke breathlessly. Pulling himself out from beneath a fallen girl's cot, he ripped of his torn Jets sweater and wiped the sweat from his face. "Usually, we aren't wizards, my parents are never around, much less have _doppelgangers_, and Mother Agnes would have had us glued to the altar begging Jesus for forgiveness for messing up the light board."

"True, that," Brian muttered, wiping grime of his shoulders in large puffs of dust.

"Point," Travis conceded. "Counter-point. What really is 'usual' for us? We've always had trouble or something weird happen to us. Remember when Allison Dott grew a rat's tail when we got mad at her for turning us in for the "lye-for-soap incident" of eighty-six?

James and Brian shared a look, they glanced back to Travis. "Point," they conceded. Shaking of more dust, they helped some of the girls out of the wreck and made their way over to Sirius, Remus, and James.

"Well? How did we do?" James Jr. asked pleasantly.

James Sr. had a disturbed look on his face. "They used wands."

"We did?" Brian asked. "That ain't an-everyone-can-do-it thing?"

"Ain't ain't a word and I ain't gonna say it no more," James Dean and Travis sang teasingly, as if they hadn't just fought for their lives.

Brian kicked then in a not-too-discreet discreet manner as James Sr. and Sirius laughed.

"No, Brian, it's not. You're a wizard, like us. Like James," Remus answered, looking at them curiously. "Only a wizard or a witch can use a wand. Curious, though, as you had no training and still used wordless magic so well…"

"Oh, c'mon Moony, lay off the kids, eh mate?" Sirius joked. Gripping James Dean by the shoulders and gave him a hug, he gave him a grin and a nod. "You did good kid. Saved our skins, all three of you. I'd say, that judging by the fact that all three of you are wizards, I'd think it's safe to say that the three of you are coming with us."

"To Britain?" Travis asked quietly, unsure.

"Dude, we could meet Sean Connery!" Brian piped in, oblivious to his friends insecurities.

"And my brother!"

At this, Travis and Brian stared at James blankly. "Well, my mom said I had one…"

"A twin, to be exact. Not identical, though. You look more like your mum," Sirius laughed. "Harry's a daddy's boy."

"Yeah, but Harry never jumped at a full grown man before," James Sr. laughed, but his tone quickly turned serious. "You're only eight, James. You can't be doing these things, no matter how well you handled yourself."

His father's rationality was sound, James decided. "I won't, unless absolutely necessary. Neither will Brian nor Travis, right guys?"

"Yeah, sure," Brian nodded eagerly. "Just get me outta _here _and don't separate me from my brothers."

"Point taken, sir."

"So you're my dad, and I know my mom, but who are they?" he asked, pointing at Sirius and Remus. "And why did those people look exactly like you?"

"Oh, right, introductions, eh? This," he gestured to the taller, well-dressed man. "Is Sirius Black, and this," he pointed to the shabbier looking guy. "Is Remus Lupin. Both of them are your honorary uncles, Jamie. In fact, Remus is your godfather."

"I have a godfather?" James asked, fighting the urge to impersonate a line from the very same movie. Keeping a straight face, he then asked, "And those people?"

Dark wizards, James. They most likely were dark wizards. There is… magic that allows a witch or wizard to take on the appearance of another human being, but do not worry about it. They're not likely to come back anytime soon."

"Okay."

"Good to see you guys have mended your problems," Lily joked sarcastically, rolling into the dormitory as far as she could, the group of orphan boys following her, all of them looking in shock at what happened to their living space. "What is it with you Potter men having buildings blow apart whenever they get together?"

"Oh, yes, joke about the destruction of the orphanage some more, would you please!" A deep, baritone voice barked. Father Duke had walked in with the children and was now staring madly at the wreckage of the dormitories. His cocoa colored skin had darkened further with rage, and his potbelly jiggled slightly as he stormed forward, running his hands through his short salt and pepper hair. "That is _it_, Potter! First the sign outside, and now this! I've had _enough of you_, you hear!?"

Lily intervened quickly, before he could continue. "I'm sorry, sir, but James Dean didn't cause this."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes."

The Father's face flushed even darker than it was as he glared at James, his family, and the friends. "And who did, then, _hm_?"

"Uh…" James Sr. stuttered as he, Sirius and Remus shifted quietly, at a loss of words.

"We were attacked, Father Duke Sir," Brian explained up quickly, standing up and taking the initiative. "These men and woman came here for James, and these guys came after them, and just attacked. One of them went up to the girls dormitories, and blew the hole in the ceiling."

"Oh, and I'm supposed to-"

"It's true, sir! We all saw it!" Gigi Sheppard, the blonde girl with the pigtails affirmed, crawling over the debris to where the group stood. James, Travis, and Brian gawked. Since when did Gigi, the girl who picked and ratted on them the most, come to their aid? "The man came in, and we asked him if he was going to adopt one of us, and he said yes. He told us to make a circle around us, then he pulled something out of his pocket. Then we all fell down here."

Incensed, but calming down, Duke looked from James, to James Dean, to Gigi. "And what did he look like?"

"Like him," she answered honestly, pointing at James Sr. "Exactly like him."

"So it was you!?"

"No!"

"It wasn't him, he's wearing different clothes! This man wasn't wearing black, he wore a red and blue plaid shirt. And his voice was different. Higher," Gigi was forward and to the point, and Brian was nodding and agreeing to everything she said, doubly affirming it.

"I see," Duke said thoughtfully. "Well, how is this going to be fixed? The Priory does not have the budget-"

"If I may be so bold, sir," James stepped forward, Remus and Sirius standing behind him. He waited for Father Duke to affirm him, which he did with a quiet affirmative. "I'm considerably wealthy, coming from a long, nobility-traced family in Britain. I would gladly offer any monetary amount necessary to aid you in not just repair, but completely rebuilding the Orphanage."

"That is a generous offer, Mr.…?"

"Potter, Father."

Shocked, Father Duke stared at James momentarily as if he'd grown another head. "As generous of an offer that is, Mr. Potter, it is simply too much. _You_ were attacked on _our_ grounds; it is simply a matter of pride that I decline."

"Well, how about this," James offered. He walked over and stood behind James Dean and put his hands on his Travis's shoulders. "You help me re-adopt my son, and to adopt his two friends here quickly, quietly and without too much paperwork for the in-between country regulations and we'll call it even."

"Really?" James Dean asked, looking up at his father questioningly. "But wait, you're a wizard, can't you just fix it yourself?"

James laughed nervously and gave Duke a 'Kids' look and shook his head. "I may be a wizard at wood-working, but I think this'll take a bit more work for just one man, mate."

"What? But-"

"Nonsense, Jim," James said, sounding a little strangled and he squeezed James Dean's shoulder tightly. James Dean got the message: shut up. He even ignored his much-hated nickname.

"So that means we live in a mansion?" Travis asked hopefully, ignoring everything that James and his father had just discussed. Looking between Duke, James Sr., and Lily, he continued. "With like, full workout stuff and everything?"

"All that and more, Travis," Lily affirmed with a smile. "We even have a pool."

"Dude, Father, we gotta get adopted by this guy," Brian muttered longingly. "Just take the money, man."

Father Duke balked at Brian's materialistic attitude, but sighed resignedly. "Yes, yes. Very well, Mr. Potter, I shall prepare the paperwork right away. I trust you have proof that you really are his father?"

"Yes," Lily answered, pulling out a folder from a bag on her wheelchair. "Right here."

…

"You two go on ahead to the good Father's office, Lily. Me and the guys need to talk real quick."

With a small smile, Lily nodded. "No problem. So, Father Duke; how long has the orphanage been running…" Her voice trailed off as she and Duke turned down a hallway and out of sight.

"Are you guys thinking Death Eaters, too?" James asked. He looked between the two and leaned against the wall, waiting for an answer.

"Possibly," Sirius spoke first. "There were a lot of them that fell through the cracks, but still. I don't know, mate."

"I find it improbable. What do they have to gain? Their master is gone, presumed dead, and the Ministry has a no-tolerance for any muggle- or muggle born related hate crimes. And how would a Death Eater find out about James now if they don't have the resources that we and Dumbledore did?"

"I don't know, Moony, I don't know."

James turned and looked out the window, lost in his own thoughts. What in Merlin's beard was going on?

…

_**Albania, Pindus Mountains**_

In the deepest, darkest forest of Albania, a chamois munched on a pitifully small berry tree branch, almost completely oblivious that all the berries on the wretched twig had died years ago, and that it was eating nothing more than a dry-rotting toothpick.

It munched, and munched, and munched, but it never felt sharp pricks of wood biting into its rugged gums.

The surrounding trees in the gully had been tainted as well, the leaves for all intents and purposes dead, but still clinging on to their respective limbs, who combined with their gnarling, sickly boughs worked to prevent any sun light from reaching the forest floor. A muggle scientist without a Geiger scope would theorize that the forest was irradiated.

The chamois itself was just as sickly as its surroundings. Ribs protruded from beneath its shabby coat, which was falling away from its body in large, moldy patches. Its rheumy eyes stared blankly at nothing as it chewed its woody meal.

At a snap of a leaf, it turned its head, seemingly coming out of its reverie. Something else was there.

…

For over seven years, the spirit of Lord Voldemort wandered the forest. Restlessly awaiting for the return of his disciples had proved fruitless. The spineless worms had most likely feigned innocence after his blundering downfall, went on to "normal" lives. They would _pay_ for their treachery, he vowed.

And then, a disturbance.

Though physically removed from his own body, the magic that was instilled by his Dark Mark marked his coal-black soul and connected him distantly from his followers. The Carrows were up to something, but they had failed. Pushing his mental capacity to the limit, he tried desperately to find out what they had failed at.

Soon it started coming at him in patches. New York. America. Muggle orphanage. Potter. Potter? No, _Potters_. The Potters had survived, as had their runts. Found him. Kidnap. Kidnap James Dean Potter! For what, though?

For him, he finally realized. The Carrows wanted to kidnap the lost Potter boy for _him_. So, not _all_ of his followers had given up on him. Most intriguing…

Feeling the strain of what the magic did to his viper's body, Voldemort continued on his way, for he needed to rest his scaly form.

His spirit living off the sustenance provided by the snake he had possessed, he slithered his way towards the gully he had made his home. Snaking his way to his hiding whole, he spied the goatish antelope and could only think one thing.

'_Dinner_.'

…

The chamois, alerted to the presence of another animal, deliriously tried to get its bearings on what to do. The fight-flight instinct had died away in its small brain long ago, but it still knew that it was supposed to do it. It turned lethargically and began to stumble away, still chomping its twigs.

At that point in time, the snake in the dead brush and the wolf behind the rock both decided to strike at that opportune time. The snake's fangs buried themselves in the mindless chamois's throat as the feral wolf's fetid canines dug into the flesh of its soft, anemic underbelly.

Both realizing what had happened at the same time, the snake tried to escape before becoming the wolf's side dish.

It's didn't make it back to the bush.

And as the black soul of Lord Voldemort ripped itself from the body of the dyeing snake, all he could of was one thing.

'_Dammit_.'


	5. Chapter 5: What's My Age Again?

Hello again, so glad you have decided to read on. We pick up where we left off, only no terrible, icky, spider fingered Oldy Moldy Voldy to mortify us with a little wooden stick or fangs. ... maybe.

Just kidding, just kidding... Anyway, this one goes to my new beta, for whom without her help, this story chapter would be, in my eyes, not as good as it is.

_**Recommended Listening:**_

**Song**- _What's My Age Again?_

**Artist**-_Blink-182_

**Album**-_ Enema of the State_

How does this tie in? The reason behind James, Travis, and Brian's intelligence and supposed maturity is explained. Enough. Said.

_**ENJOI**_

Oh, right, acknowledgments. Uh... the usual. And Reese's. HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

_**...**__**  
**_

Harry Potter woke from a terrible dream about snakes, goats, and wolves, screaming shrilly. He screamed not from the horror of the dream, for he had almost forgotten about it as soon as his eyes opened. He screamed from overwhelming, searing pain.

His scar burned as if someone had taken a red-hot, lightning bolt shaped brand and seared it to his forehead. The pain was indescribable, and he screamed for what felt like his very life.

With a pop, a house elf wearing a cleanly pressed butler uniform materialized on the foot of his bed and started shaking Harry. "Master Harry, wake up!" the elf shrieked, his high, squeaky voice piercing Harry's ears.

"I _am_ up, Wackie!" He hollered, doubling over on the bed and onto floor. "Get Quincy, quick!"

"Then Wackie bees right back, Wackie gets butler!"

For what seemed like an eternity, Harry lay curled within a tangle of sheets on the floor beside his bed. He palmed the scar as his eyes welled up with tears from the pain. And then two hands were at his shoulders, pulling him up into a sitting position. "Master Harry, you're going to have to sit up," A man with a Welsh accent prodded, pushing Harry to lean on the bed frame. "Here, young one, push this on that scar, there's a good chap."

"It hurts, Quincy," Harry moaned as he opened his eyes. He hadn't noticed that his lights had been turned on. "And I had a terrible dream, where I was a snake and I was mad, I was so mad and I was so scared."

"Scared of what, Master Harry? Did the snake do something bad?" Harry, too young, too trusting, never heard the sense of maniacal urgency that quickly overtook his caretaker's voice.

"No, it was nothing like when I'm scared of mom and dad when I'm in trouble," Harry extrapolated.

"Which is quite a fair bit, I might add. Just like your father," Quincy laughed, and smiled as the bit of humor worked its way into Harry's system, making him relax and letting him know that he was fine. That he wasn't in danger. '_Yet_.' "Why don't you pop back up into bed, young Master, it is a fairly chilly night."

Harry quickly got back up into his large king sized bed as he blindly continued to explain his dream. "No, it was like… like- er, well I dunno, I felt like I was so alone and nothing was right. I felt scared."

"Yes, well, there is nothing to be scared of now, hm?" Quincy condescended jokingly, exaggerating his facial expressions to help ease Harry's fears more. Harry laughed and nodded, responding to Quincy's antics even further. "And that silly little scar isn't hurting so much anymore, now is it?"

"No, sir," he answered.

"Good then," Quincy soothed. "I'll leave you to sleep then."

Walking to the door, hitting the lights, and closing it behind him, he quickly lost his smile. Harry's father wasn't going to like this. And when the Potter patriarch wasn't happy, he got paranoid. And when Quincy's immediate master got paranoid, his true allegiance could thus be in jeopardy.

…

"So, this is it. The Isle of Wight," James spoke loudly, breaking the silence that had enraptured the car. "This is where Potter Manor resides, in East Cowes."

"East Cows?" Travis snorted with amusement. "Who names a town after a stupid cow?"

"Not cow, Cowes, _C-o-w-e-s_. The Isle of Wight is sort of remote, very secluded, and very _safe_. It's mostly a resort for the muggle population, so it's kind of ritzy."

Slowly breaking his attention from the scenery of water that had so engulfed him with boredom, James looked up from his seat in the backseat. At the beginning of the trip, he had decided that he really loved magic. He, Travis, Brian, Sirius, and Remus had been able to sit comfortably without even touching each other because of a spell that enlarged the interior of the car. All three of them had asked what seemed like a million questions about their new home, their new brother Harry, and about magic itself. But after they had gotten to England and had started driving to the manor, their questions had run dry, and everyone was left in silence. James and Brian had, in fact, fallen asleep against each other.

"Isle? What's an Isle?" Brian asked tiredly, having been woken up by James Sr.'s proclamation.

"It's an island," Lily explained. "It's kind of like your Manhattan, only it's not that urban."

"Urban?"

"It's not a city," Remus answered.

"Oh."

"Great, we're all gonna be a bunch of islander hicks," James Dean scoffed, smirking at his sarcasm.

"As long as this house has workout stuff and a private bed and shower, I'm happy," Travis spoke up. "Nothing else matters to me."

"Yeah, nothing else matters except your buffness makers, you juicer," Brian joked.

"Shuddup."

…

James looked out at Potter Manor's grounds and the mansion. It looked like a Victorian age palace, with ivory colored walls, rectangular windows, and intricate gardens along the Northern face, surrounding the path to the front doors. It appeared to have three different wings, an Eastern, a middle, and Western. In fact, it looked a little familiar. With flashbacks to Sister Marietta's history class, he remembered where he saw it before. "Is this the Osborne House?"

"No, but Queen Victoria and Prince Albert Liked our house so much they built one of their own just like it, tailored to their own tastes," James Sr. replied. "Ours is a couple hundred years older, with a few renovations over the years," he continued with a wink. "Ah, here comes our butler, Quincy, and he's brought Harry."

"That guy gives me the creeps," Sirius muttered into James Dean's ear, looking serious for the first time since James had met him.

The butler in question looked very stereotypical, a cliché Alfred-styled butler with a tux, white gloves, and towel over his left arm. In his wake came a raven-haired kid who looked a lot like James' dad. His short cropped hair left his almond shaped green eyes and a particularly wicked lightning bolt scar on his forehead open to view. He wore a surprisingly none magical outfit, with a summer friendly green and blue striped shirt, khaki shorts and trainers.

"Harry, James Dean, James Dean, Harry James," Lily introduced happily. She looked between the two giddily, as if Christmas had come eleven months early.

Harry looked at James expectantly, as if he was going to do something amazing or grow another head. Shifting feet slightly and squirming under his newfound twin's scrutiny, he muttered, "'Sup."

"I'm Harry, nice to finally meet you!" Harry all but screamed, jumping from his stock still, awe-inspired stance and gave James a hug. "I've heard all about how we where before you left, and now we can be brothers again! This is so cool!"

Standing stock still, James patted Harry on the head and half-heartedly gave Harry a return embrace. "Sure you are, bro," he sighed, and turned to look at his parents. They looked happy, ecstatic even. His father was kneeling beside his mother's wheelchair, holding her hand and smiling goofily. His mother was wiping tears from her eyes, and that's when another wave of reality hit him. They had waited seven years for this moment, for their family to be whole again. He wasn't about to ruin this for them. He hugged his new brother with as much intensity as he could muster then let go. "So, where do the cool kids hang out at in this joint?"

"Hang out? What's a joint?" Harry let go and looked at James as if he had finally grown that extra head, but it still wasn't what he had expected.

"Where can we… you know, hang out. Chill. Kick back," Travis added.

'Who are you?" Harry asked quickly, suddenly realizing the other two boys were there.

"Brian Allen Gates. Junior. Nice to meet ya, bro," Brian came forward, shaking Harry's limp hand stalwartly.

"Travis," Travis introduced with a little less enthusiasm.

"They are now your brothers, too, Harry. They are wizards too, just like us."

"But dad-"

"No buts," James Sr. demanded. "You'll all get along; you just need some time to acclimate."

"Accmalwhat?" Harry asked quizzically.

"Ak. Lim. Ate. Acclimate. It means get used to one another," James Dean snorted.

Harry looked put off by James Dean's intelligence, and turned and pouted at the ground. "I'm not insulting you; I'm expanding your vocabulary."

Harry looked back up at James' face, stared for a moment and smiled goofily. "Okay," he conceded.

"Why don't you four line up with your parents for a family picture, hm?" the butler, Quincy asked. "I'm not a connoisseur in the art of family, but I'm sure this is a simply paramount moment, I would think?"

"Of course, Quincy," Lily agreed. 'We should have our three shorter mates, too, yes?"

"Yeah, where are those midgets," Sirius asked, looking around mockingly.

"Wackie! Yackie! Jackie!" James hollered commandingly. Three short, thin… somethings popped into James vision.

"Yes, masters?"

James stared at the long eared, gray skinned munchkins for a split second before panicking. "Gah, what the hell are they?!"

"House elves, young Master!" The tallest, leanest one squeaked. He wore a butler uniform much like Quincy's. "I'm Wackie!"

"And I'm Yackie!" The shorter, fatter elf drawled.

"And I'm cute-" The female one dressed as a maid started, but was cut off by the other two.

"She's Jackie."

"Oh. Okay," James Dean muttered. "That explains a lot."

"House elves are magical creatures that assist families with cooking, cleaning, and other household chores," Lily explained helpfully. "While most families treat their elves as second class, they are a part of our family. They seem a little odd at first, but they'll grow on you."

"Servants. Don't you find it demeaning?" Travis asked wistfully.

"Not at all, Master! Wes does what wes is born to do!" Yackie screeched happily, jumping up and down jovially. "Tis' so good to sees young Master James Dean agains, sir!"*****

"You know me?"

"You lived in Potter Manor as a child, Jamie," Lily explained again. "As a matter of fact, Jackie was your nanny."

"Jackie remembers when Master James was Jackie's' height, sir!"

"Whoa. That's trippy, dude," Brian teased. "You got nursed by one of Santa's little helpers."

"Ah, shaddup."

"Picture, boys, picture."

…

Quincy, though too professional to allow his true feelings to show, was not happy.

It had taken a while before the picture could be shot successfully. The first three times, James, Brian, and Travis had all fallen over laughing as Harry sneezed and accidently turned his snot blue The house elves had toppled over themselves trying to make a standing man pyramid, and then Quincy dropped the camera as he hit the button, taking a twirling picture of the ground rushing up to meet the camera's lens.

After fixing the shattered camera, the Potter family finally got it right. The elves had steadied their pyramid with Jackie striking a pose on top of her brothers shoulders, Harry had cleared his nose and was kneeling by Lily's chair, with James Sr. kneeling on the other side. Remus, Sirius, and the three other boys stood behind them, arms locked around each other's shoulders while making devil horn signs with their hands and making wild, angry faces.

Quincy, thoroughly unimpressed, still took the picture.

…

"Harry, why don't you take your new brothers on a tour of the mansion? Let us adults do some consulting."

"Sure thing, mum!" Harry chirped. James Dean hadn't even known that boys _could_ chirp…

"C'mon, Jimmy Dean, we get to choose our own rooms!" Brian exclaimed, slapping him on the back.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."

Harry led them down the drive and into the opening hall of the Manor. James marvelled at its elegance and beauty; the ceiling must have been three stories high, and the walls were seemingly cut from ivory. And then, as the sun peaked through the windows as a cloud receded from its light, the walls shifted from its silvery white to blue-tinted mother-of-pearl. "Whoa…"

"That's so cool," Travis breathed in agreement.

"What? The walls? So?" Harry asked, looking at them as if this was an everyday occurrence. "This has always happened."

"Not at St. Bernadette's, it didn't," James sighed, lost in the beauty of the colour shifting walls. "This is so, so… so…"

"I-I love this place already," Brian stuttered.

"Oooookay…" Harry said to himself indignantly. "You blokes are weird."

"Whatever. I dunno what a bloke is, but that's cool."

"Look, can we just take the tour?"

"Sure," James breathed, slowly following his twin up the stairs to the East wing.

"The East Wing is where we all live. It has five floors, four above ground and a basement. Mum and dad live on the fifth, the highest, as well as Uncle Moony. Don't really go up there, dad's study is there and he doesn't like people snooping through it. My room is on the fourth, I bet you're gonna live there, too. We'll each have a room, a study for our homework and stuff, and our own living room. The third is for Quincy and the elves, the second is for guests, and the first is a common area, the kitchen, and the foyer to the garage.

"The basement is the family living room, where we do Christmas and where we all get together to relax."

"So we get the fourth floor to ourselves," Brian stated for affirmation.

"Yep," Harry nodded, obviously happy he was getting to something "important."

"Okay, sweet," Travis hurried. "Where is the work-out stuff?"

"In the West wing, with the rest of the fun stuff. The first floor of it is a dance hall for when mum and dad have one of their parties. The second is a full potions lab and such. Uncle Moony is really the only one who uses it, always trying to find a "cure for his furry little problem."

"Furry little problem?" The three chorused confusedly.

Harry shrugged and shook his head. "I dunno. Maybe he has an evil rabbit?"

James, Travis and Brian all looked at each other and chorused: "Killer Rabbit?"

Harry looked at them oddly and nodded. "Yeah, that's what I said."

"Bunny bread!" Brian joked.

"We don't have the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch!" Travis screamed. "Run away!"

"Run away!" James agreed, grabbing Harry's arm and proceeded to take the stairs to the fourth floor two at a time.

"What are you doing?" Harry demanded, stumbling after James quickened gait as they turned off the stairway and into the fourth floor hall. "Guys, what's going on?"

"C'mon, Harry, haven't you seen Monty Python's Holy Grail?"

"No," he answered, putting his hands in his pockets. "But I have seen the Flying Circus."

"No way," Brian whispered, looking at Harry with a newfound respect.

Sensing that he had pleased his new brothers, Harry smiled and continued. "Yeah, it was wicked hilarious," he lied. In all honesty, he thought it was the weirdest thing he ever saw. But Dad and Sirius liked it.

"And I thought you wizard dudes were cut off from normal society," Brian heaved.

"Nope, Mum likes to keep me in tune to both sides of Britain, Wizarding and muggle. So, can I continue?"

"Go ahead, bro."

"Anyway, the second floor is Uncle Moony's lab. The third floor is the library. It has thousands of books, from muggle literature to ancient books fabled to be written by Merlin himself."

"Merlin? Sweet," James drawled. "I thought Merlin was a fable."

"Mate, Merlin was the greatest, most powerful wizard of all time! We are supposedly related to him. Distantly, of course," Harry added quickly, as if admitting that one being closely related to Merlin was a taboo.

"Huh," James grunted. Curious. "Okay, so what is the fourth floor?"

"The fourth floor is Mum's art studio. Big wide view of the grounds, no walls, just glass. She renovated it for herself a few years back.

"And the fifth floor is the observatory. It's a big crystal dome with magic markings for planetary alignments and such. Really cool."

"And the gym?"

"Oh, yeah, that's in the basement. Dad had it put in so that he could work out, because he has to be strong for work. We have a track for running, a full gym, a pool, and our own Quidditch pitch."

"Quidditch? What's that?"

"Only the greatest sport in the world!" Harry exclaimed.

As Harry went into detail about it, James couldn't help but let his thoughts meander. He marveled at how well he and Travis and Brian had begun to fit in with Harry. Sure, their slang was different, and yeah, their upbringings weren't the same. But he and Harry were brothers. True brothers, just like Travis and Brian. James Dean Potter felt like he was home.

…

"So, Quincy, did anything happen while we were gone?" Lily asked conversationally as she, James, and the butler made their way to the car. Remus had left for his lab, the boys had proceeded to the mansion, and Sirius had left to go get ready for a date he had that night.

"As a matter of fact, Madame Potter, Harry had another one of his… _dreams_ last night. It disturbed him greatly, as usual."

"Dream," James deadpanned. "This is the third one this year, I'm surprised he's forgotten it already…"

"Indeed, Master James, I'm as astounded as you are by his sudden rebound. He seems to have taken it in stride."

"I'll talk to him about it later, sweetheart. For now, Quincy, will you and the elves take care of the boys' luggage? They don't have much, just take it to their floor, they'll sort it out."

"Jolly good, ma'am," Quincy asserted, and started unloading the car's trunk.

"Walk with me?" Lily asked James, gesturing her head towards the path that led to the lake.

"Of course," James answered, smiling half-heartedly. If he was to be honest, he would have asked it of her as well, as he had some things he wanted to ask her about. It seemed she had beaten him to the punch; she always was good at knowing when he needed to speak his mind.

They made their way down the smooth, beaten path to their favorite spot. The warm summer breeze wafted through the air, carrying the scent of flowering sakura blossoms as James strolled down the walk, Lily wheeling herself down with him. The pond came into view and they came up to the Northern bank.

The bench they favored was a sturdy oak seat, and James plopped himself on it, reminding Lily of the days back at Hogwarts where he would sprawl himself out in the squishy recliner chair in front of the Gryffindor common room's hearth. And just like back then, when he would stare at the fire noncommittally, he gazed off at the water, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Smiling from the nostalgia, she prodded him. "You have something on your mind. May I know what it is, oh dear husband of mine?"

James smiled pleasantly at her banter. "A lot, actually," he started, never tearing his stare from the placid ripples of the lake. "James Dean, and his friends. Those dark wizards who attacked us. Harry's dreams, and how the boys are going to react to one another."

"James Dean, and the other two, I might add, are surprisingly intelligent for their age. Mother Agnes told me that whenever they weren't sneaking out to tear up the streets of New York, they spent much of their time in the library, reading everything from encyclopedias to classic literature ranging from H.P. Lovecraft to _Paradise Lost._"

James nodded slightly in agreement, even though he had no idea what books she was talking about. "And he's- no, all of them are so mature. They reasoned like adults, it was almost like looking at three little Dumbledores, the way their logic ran."

"How so?" Lily asked, bending forward and taking James hand into her own.

James shifted so that he was leaning closer to her, pressing his head into her shoulder, never breaking eye contact with the water. "It would have been so easy for them to get confused and agitated about being attacked by two groups of people who look exactly alike. But they took it in stride, and not only did they handle themselves well, but they handled themselves better than me and Siri."

"Huh."

"And then, when I reprimanded James for getting involved, he just took it, and then he stood there, thinking it over, and agreed. He promised we would never do so again, unless absolutely necessary."

Lily ran her fingers through James' hair as she replied. "James, James Dean and his two friends are a most rare find. Three orphaned wizard children, all becoming best friends? What are the odds? They were all treated like freaks growing up, with unexplainable powers and overbearing nuns calling them heathens. I hate to say it, but James and Brian and Travis are already, in a sense, grown up. They had to learn not to chafe under the teasing and hatred from their fellow orphans and caretakers. And then they would escape to the dirty streets of New York City, and Lord knows what they saw there."

"Yeah, I suppose, but it still hurts me to see him having to be so…"

"Old?"

"Yeah. My son, my _namesake_, for crying out loud, did not have the privileged upbringing I did," James sighed, shaking his head into Lily's shoulder. "And then all that business with Dumbledore, I can't help but wince at the consequences he and Harry will face with what Dumbledore expects of them."

"Me too," Lily added, continuing to soothe him. "But it's up to us to prepare them for the worst, and to teach them to be as good of people as possible, so that they will be ready in case Dumbledore _is_ right."

James nodded, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight to his side. "You're right, my beautiful psychologist, you. You're always right."

"I bloody damn well should be."

James laughed, squeezing her lovingly by the shoulders. "Trust me, you are."

"And don't worry about those wizards, or Harry's dreams too much. Dumbledore will help us figure them out."

"I won't," James replied quickly.

"You will," Lily shot back knowingly. "You will, because paranoia is your middle name, James Ignotus Potter."

"And here I thought Ignotus was my middle name," he joked.

Lily laughed and squeezed him this time. "No, it was just a horribly planed cover up by your parents."

"I miss them."

"I do too. I never knew pureblood nobility could be so accepting."

"Hey, we aren't all Malfoys, no matter what you thought back in Hogwarts."

"I wish I could take it all back," she smiled sadly. "Think of all the moments like this we could have shared."

"I don't," James disagreed, with a hint of wisdom. At her confused stare, he explained. "Think about how different we would have been. If you gave me that shot back in fifth year, we might have fallen apart. We weren't ready for a serious relationship then, and Snivellus might have never shown his true side. You might have ended up with _him_."

"And for once, I think you might actually be right."

"Oh, hush, you," He jabbed back humorously. He let go and stood up, stretching. "I have to go owl the American Ministry, see about having a talk about the magic-use in front of muggles. They probably aren't too happy about us up and leaving without a statement."

Lily unlocked her wheels and looked up at him with a smirk. "The hardest working dad in the business."

"I bloody damn well better be."

…

With a whole afternoon to waste, the four boys spread out across the West wing, doing what they felt like. James took up a temporary residence in the Library, reading up on Magical History. Harry and Travis made their way down to the basement, where they swam, ran, and lifted weights. Brian snuck into Lily's art studio and strummed on Donnie's old guitar.

After having had read enough for what felt like a lifetime, James collected the others and walked out into the middle wing in the main hall.

"You mentioned a quidditch pitch," he spoke to Harry.

"Yeah, but we can't play unless Dad or Sirius or Remus is with us. We aren't allowed to get on a broom with an adult legally, yet, anyway."

"A _broom_?" They asked incredulously.

"Yeah, a flying broomstick. How else are you supposed to play, grow a pair of wings?"

And so began Harry's long reiteration of how quidditch was played, its history, its rules (of which he only knew three hundred and thirty four,) and all of Britain's professional teams, including his favorite, the Pride of Portree. He explained this as they walked outside amongst the grounds, viewing the slowly setting sun and its waning rays as they glittered across the ripples of the pond. He told the tale of how he became a fan of the Pride, when James Sr. and Sirius took him to see a Holyhead Harpies-Pride of Portree game, and bought him the jersey robe of the winning team, which ended up being the Pride.

And when Harry had talked himself blue about quidditch, he asked them about any American muggle sports they liked. So James and Travis explained all about American Football and baseball, the history of their favorite teams, the New York Jets and the Boston Red Sox, and how they had become fans.

It turned out that Father Duke was a bit of a baseball fan, and was avid about both the New York Mets and Yankees. In an effort to annoy him greatly, James stole a Red Sox jersey from an MLB store in Brooklyn, and wore it proudly throughout the orphanage for a week. Thus began their obsession with the Red Sox.

In an effort to properly co-exist with little fans of a hated baseball franchise, Duke and Donnie Way took them to see a Jets-Giants game, which the Jets surprisingly won. From then on, they almost completely forgot about baseball and would throw a pigskin football for hours on end, dreaming of winning a Super Bowl.

As the sun began to set, they were made their way inside whenelves popped in front of them. "Master, James," Wackie drawled lazily, "Master James wants you to choose what's for dinner. Master says it's a celebration tonight for Master James and his brothers for coming home, Master James, Master Brian and Master Travis gets to choose their entrées."

The three looked at each other, and back to the elves. "Monticelli's Pizza Pie," they chorused.

…

Wackie was a good house elf. He really was. So when the new young Masters requested pizza (he didn't even know what pizza was!) from a restaurant all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, all the way in New York, he complied. Flying through the Ministry of Magic's International Relations office, through an international floo, he appeared in the streets of New York as a young teen dressed in a baggy white jogging suit, with a long gold chain around his neck and an alabaster paper boy hat.

He walked through the door of Monticelli's Pizza Pie-Brooklyn Style Pizzeria haphazardly, screaming, "Four Pizza Pies, for Potter!"

"Potter, eh…" Edgar Monticelli muttered, looking down at his waiting list. "Potter isn't here on the-"

"Four pies for the Potter! One supreme, one cheese, one peppy, one peppy, sausage, pineapple and anchovy!" Clarissa, Monticelli's best cook exclaimed, carrying four boxes.

"Huh, whattaya know?"

…

Donnie Wayland sat at his booth with his girlfriend Mary when he heard the name Potter. "Potter?"

"What's that, hun?" Mary asked, her blue eyes and black hair gleaming in the fluorescent lighting.

"Potter! I forgot! Eh, Edge!"

"Yo, what's on yo' mind, Donnie?" Edgar asked.

"I forgot to tell ya, James and his two homies got adopted today!"

"Adopted?" he muttered sadly. "That's a shame, those punks loved this place."

"You knew Master James?" the white dressed guy asked, his façade breaking. His long mouse ears popped out, blowing his hat off. "Oh dear," he drawled. Grabbing the pizzas, he sprinted to the exit.

"Hey, how you gonna pay fo' dat!?"

"Already did, fat master!"

…

James was surprised, to say the least. By the time he and the rest of the family made it to the dining hall in the middle wing, Yackie and Jackie had already made the table, and just as they all began to sit, Wackie came flying through the door, with four Brooklyn-style pizzas, fresh from his favorite pizza man's shop.

"I love magic."


	6. Chapter 6: AN IntERLewD

This should hold y'all over for a bit... What happens before the boys start Hogwarts is right here in a pretty little InterLood.

_**Recommended Listening- The Body of Death of the Man with the Body of Death**_

_**Artist**_- Pinkly Smooth

_**Album**_- Unfortunate Snort

Pinkly Smooth is an avant-garde music group started by Avenged Sevenfold's drummer The Reverand and lead guitarist Synyster Gates. They're stuff is... questionably insane at best and "What were they smoking when they wrote this?" at worst, but it's a very good song. If youy can get over the weirdness. And the Mr. Bungles style music. And Rev's ghoulishly awesome vocals.

_**ENJOI!!!!**_

_**...or I'll eat your soul and crap out demons...**_

_**Interlewd-The Body of Death of the Man with the Body of Death

* * *

**_

Over the next few years, Harry, James, Travis and Brian would go to a Wizarding Primary School. They were taught the basics about daily life; math, grammar, how to read, write, and communicate, everything that a typical grade school would teach, as well as the basics of magic and magical law.

James and Lily Potter soon learned what it was truly like living with their long lost son and his two compatriots. Pranks, random Muggle cultural references, and almost daily complaints from Quincy were the norm. The boys enjoyed pranking the butler as he was always serious and professional, and he NEVER did anything about it.

Voldemort, on the other hand, continued his "exile" in Albania, learning to further use his newfound power of telepathic intuition on his old allies, his Death Eaters.

Through the Dark Mark imprinted on the forearms of his followers, he learned who had lied to get out of prison for being associated with him, and who was sent away for swearing their allegiance, some to their deaths. He also learned how to manipulate them. With a little push, he learned how to subtly manipulate others, as well.

With his former comrades' telltale hearts in mind, he began planning his redemption to power. He started with a rather gullible, mentally unstable Hogwarts professor freshly promoted to Voldemort's coveted position…

* * *

Quirinius Quirrell stomped through the deadened brush of the Albanian forest hesitantly. Oh, how foolish was he! This was a damned fool's crusade, looking for the long dead Voldemort. Crushing a small twig beneath his black boot, he recalled how he had gotten to this point.

He had left after the final term of Hogwarts to get "real experience" after Dumbledore had requested he take over the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. He had teemed with excitement at first; he knew much about the Dark Arts of magic, and had dreamed of rising to a form of power himself, but the night after Dumbledore asked, Quirrell came to a realization.

He had never so much as ventured out of the theoretic atmosphere of Hogwarts.

If he was to rise to a stance of power near that of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, much less teach a class of miscreants about the most subtle and devious science of magic, he would need real world knowledge. So the day after that, he told Dumbledore of his plans, made his arrangements, and left before the old fool could suspect anything else.

First he hit Egypt, where he followed an old student of his, Bill Weasley around the tombs of the pharaohs, breaking curses and dealing with zombie mummies. When he tired of being bitten (or more like gummed) by Tut and his house of harlots, he decided to move on to Greece.

He was hard-pressed not to waltz into the Great Library of Athens, which the great wizard scholar Episcoles himself had invited him to do. Being invited to so much as study one book in the Great Library was an honor, but Quirrell was in Greece to get experience, not read books. So he apparated to Sparta and for three full weeks learned the martial arts and combat techniques of the Spartans under King Laurinitis, the finest king of the finest magical warriors in the Old World. However, it was nothing but brutish, physical work and nothing to do with the kind of magic he craved. Quirrell again moved on.

Quirrell's international portkey brought him to Moscow, where after a little digging, he managed to find the texts of Rasputin, the crazed Dark Wizard who tried to be the Merlin to Russia's King Arthur, the Czar. The man truly was insane, but his teachings were just as truly brilliant. He didn't have very long to study the books before he figured he'd get caught. Having wrapped them in his cloak and reactivated his portkey, Quirrell left Russia before anyone noticed that the books were missing.

Stopping at an inn in a magically populated village in Transylvania, he had rented a room and continued his vigorous study of Rasputin's teachings. Finally, it felt like he had found something of sustenance, of substance, in his weeks of searching.

While the old mage's madness became more obvious to Quirrell, so did his brilliance. He taught Quirrell much through his written word, including how to subtly control others, cause a broomstick to malfunction, as well as a gold mine of information about immortality. Granted, this gold mine was on a single subject, but it was worth its weight in much more than gold. However, that night he was weary of hunching over a book, and no matter how much he tried he just couldn't read more than a sentence before distracting himself. So Quirrell made his way down to the inn's tavern and got himself a quart of a local lager. And then fate seemed to walk through his front door once again, as a young looking vampire came through the inn and sat next to him at the taverns bar. And she told him of her terrifying tale of walking through the old forests of Albania, where the once green and lush forest became a deathtrap of dead brush and twisted black boughs.

Quirrell couldn't believe it. It was rumored that Voldemort, Quirrell's leading inspiration to study the dark ways, was there, in Albania. Now it seemed confirmed, and Quirrell made his way again.

And now here he was, stomping through the dead brush and twisted black boughs, just as that little vampire tramp described, finding nothing but an ecologically failing forest. In anger and frustration, Quirrell pulled his wand and made to apparate when a viper's fangs thrust themselves into his thigh.

It seemed that Quirrell's fate truly was nigh, after all.

* * *

Moo. Ha. Ha ha. (author coughs) Muahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-( author coughs, chokes violently)

...man, I really need to stop smoking...


	7. Chapter 7: Diagonally

Hello, everybody and welcome back! To the seventh installment to the TwinsPotterandthephilosophersstone... When we last left our young, ignorant and naive quad of snotnosed miscreants, they had all been united as a happy, rich, privileged family on the Isle of Wight. Now, I have been reading back over the first book, and I noticed that "Aunt Marge" took a vacation to the Isle, which was like "WHoa, that's the island I chose for them to live on!" And so came the devious ideas and nefarious plot plans that James and his company of pranking villains could carry out... Muahahahahahaha! ...cough... excuse me as I take another puff...

Anyway, I'd like to thank my beautiful and talented editor (beta is a horrible term...) and the numero uno fan, Clare Stovold, who *gasp!* makes her first appearance as the slightly psychotic, incredibly knowledgable worthless muggle facts spouting, Pureblood, Clare Stovold who will throw a twist into the Potter boys' plans for YEARS to come...

_**Recommended Listening- Super Rad**_

_**Artist**_- Aquabats

_**Album **_-Fury of the Aquabats

In any case, I guess I'll update the disclaimer- I disclaim EVERYTHING. Even my own characters... _**ENJOI**__**!!!!!**_ {(``) (``) (``)} ... Kirby likes to dance...

* * *

_11 July, 1991_

"They're here! They're here!" Harry screamed, running down the hall. "Guys wake up they're here!"

James Dean loved his twin brother Harry, don't get him wrong. But the fact that Harry and Travis, like Dad, were early morning risers did not sit well with him. In fact, he felt like strangling him. Curling himself deeper into the sheets, he forced his eyes shut and tried to shut his Sun God brother out of his ears.

"Go back to bed, Harry! Don't you know what time it is!?" Brian all but screeched from his room.

"It's nine forty-six! And our _Hogwarts_ letters are here!"

"Hogwarts letters…?" James Dean muttered questioningly to himself. His query wasn't heard, but that didn't register with his sleep-addled mind refusing to process the situation.

"Nine forty-six!? I'm late!" The next ten minutes of James Dean's life unfolding as so: Brian scrambling to get clothes, Harry trying to force his Hogwarts acceptance letter into his hand, and Brian finally yelling at Harry that he had a date with a one Celestine Marie down in East Cowes, and that it was _gravely_ more important than Hogwarts.

At last, it seemed like he would finally get to go back to sleep when- "Sleep well, Snow White?"

"Ah, crap."

"Ha ha, forgot 'bout me, didn't you, mate?"

James Dean poked his head out from beneath the sheets and balked at the light. As his vision cleared, he finally fixed his stare at Travis, who sat amiably upon his dresser, with his elbows on his knees and an apple in his hand.

"'Mate?' Travis, what?"

Travis looked mock-insulted at James' rebuttal. "What, the whole British slang ain't working? Sorry bro, but I thought I'd give it a try."

"Whatever. Why are you in here?"

"To get you outta bed. It's almost ten and mom wants you up."

James grunted and slowly sat up, grimacing as his muscles stretched and his shoulders popped. They had played a mean game of flag football last night, and he was the sorry bloke who got selected to play quarterback. Again.

"Why?"

"Oh, I dunno, maybe because it's almost noon? Hogwarts letters came this morning, first thing. We all got accepted, and she wants to take all 'us to Diagonally."

"Where?"

"Diagon. Ally."

"You talk too fast."

"Whatever. Just get up, Mom is already talking about how much you and Brian sleep, as if it's because of a harmful home environment. It's getting to be too much to cope with."

"But she swears I get it from her…"

"Tell me about it, she slept 'til nine. If she didn't work at 'Mungos, the three of you would probably sleep until Armageddon."

"Okay, whatever. I'll be down in a sec."

"Dun you go back to sleep on me, bro," Travis warned, pointing a finger at him with a smirk. "I've got the beef to put you straight."

James Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah? Well I'm a vegetarian and I ain't friggin scared of you."

"Ha ha!" Travis laughed loudly and slapped his thigh heartily, making James wince from the volume of his bark. "Whatever, man, just get down to lunch A.S.A.P. Mom's gonna be getting upset soon if ya don't."

"Aight, I'll be down in a sec, just lemme get dressed."

Travis laughed as he swaggered out the door. "Vegetarian? Ha! He eats more meat than I do…" he muttered under his breath loudly, probably intending for James to hear as he left the room.

"And I call that guy my brother?" James Dean sighed, muttering again to no one in particular. Leaning forward with his arms draped on his legs, James tried to stare his sheets down, as if he expected them to blink. After about ten seconds of this, he fell back on the bed, moaning despondently. "Gah! I wanna sleep!"

Finally dragging himself out of bed, he looked around his room. It was huge, about a fourth the size of St. Bernadette's boys' dormitory. He really was blessed, he thought wistfully. Back at that hellhole, he had about nine square feet to himself, and that space was constantly being intruded upon by wrestling morons, careless, bullying older boys, pranks, and the occasional "Oops, sorry, wrong bed." And now he had well over four times that much room, with a large four poster, king sized bed that was warmer, softer and more comfortable than the lumpy old wood suspended cots. He had his own desk, his own computer, a large dresser, a walk-in closet, and a balcony view of the Potter Manor grounds, as well as a terrific view of the more distant ocean.

The walls were made of a warm, dark toned mahogany, and the ceiling was a bright, creamy alabaster. The soft, plushy, blue carpet was so thick it nearly sank to his ankles as he walked across the bedroom to the sturdy oak door that led to his bathroom. Ripping his baggy old Weird Sister's shirt he grabbed at Diagon Alley and his ratty lounge pants off, he jumped into the ivory white shower and quickly bathed himself. Pulling at towel around his waist, he took a moment to assess himself in the mirror.

It felt like it was the first time he had seen himself. Looking at his bright green eyes and damp red hair made him realize just how much he looked like his mother. This was something that everybody mentioned to him, which was much to his chagrin. But as he stared himself down in the reflective glass, he came to the conclusion: "Damn, I actually look _good_…"

Dragging himself out of his out of character self-appreciation, he quickly walked out of the bathroom and strode to his dresser. Pulling his favorite Metallica t-shirt and a pair of black jeans out of his dresser, he quickly jumped out of the towel and slung his clothes on and slipped his thronged flip-flops onto his feet. Whistling a random Metallica riff, he walked out of the room and made his way down to the main Hall.

Striding into the dining room, he sat down and proceeded to scarf down a bowl of cereal, much less before his mother could say "Good morning."

"Well, somebody's hungry this afternoon."

James paused for a moment to grin sheepishly at her before continuing his assault on the whole grain and milk.

"I'm proud of you, you know," she continued, trying to lure him into conversation.

"Pwode?" he muffled over a bite his breakfast, looking at her dumbfounded.

"Hogwarts, you got accepted! I know that it doesn't seem like a big deal to you, considering your heritage, but it really is an honor. Many witches and wizards don't get a letter, and have to go to a lesser known school like O'Doherty's or somewhere far away like Durmstrang or Beauxbatons."

James nodded slowly and muttered a quiet "Uh-huh," mentally rolling his eyes. Another heritage lecture…

"Now, don't you be like that. I know you're rolling your eyes in your head," Lily admonished, lightly arching a brow.

Swallowing down a particularly large mouthful of cereal, James shook his head. "I'm not mom, I swear."

Lily raised her brow higher and stared.

"Okay, okay…" James sighed, picking up the bowl and chugging down the remaining milk. "Where's Harry?"

Lily grinned, knowing he still wasn't taking her seriously, and was trying to change the subject. "He's in the library, trying to find _Hogwarts, a History_. He thinks it can tell him what house he'll be sorted into."

"Why? Isn't it obvious that we'll all get sorted into Gryffindor?"

"I'm sorry, dun mean to intrude, but… uh… house?" Travis

Lily giggled and regarded Travis knowingly. "There are four houses that students get sorted into based upon personality traits. The houses include Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor. Your father and I were Gryffindor."

"So I'm basically a shoe-in too Gryffindor," James boasted proudly. "I'm brave and noble. You'll prolly go to Hufflepuff; all brawn, no brains."

"Ah shut up!" Travis rebuked, punching him on the arm.

"Actually, I think you'd make good Ravenclaws. Especially you, James."

"What? Why?" James beseeched, dumbfounded.

"Because you are smart and intelligent and oh-so-handsome," Lily smiled motherly.

"Oh, okay, I'm handsome. That's a great reason for me to get into a Hogwarts house."

Lily giggled and gave James a motherly look. "It's a good enough reason for your mother. Anyway, your father wanted to go with us to the Alley, but the Auror's office is short-changed as it is, so Hagrid and Remus will be joining us," Lily amended, knowing that mentioning that they would get to spend time with their favorite outdoorsman would please them greatly.

"Hagrid!"

"Sweet!"

* * *

James loved Diagon Alley. All the different shops, the oddly dressed (at least to him) people, the very atmosphere reminded him of New York. Everything looked a little ramshackle and off center, but that just made him enjoy anymore. Who needs proper building techniques when you have magic to keep everything held together?

"Where are we gonna go first, mum?" Harry asked giddily after they had left Gringotts. They all had noticed the odd behavior Hagrid exhibited at the Hogwarts vault, but it was nearly completely forgotten as soon as he suggested that he buy them a cone from Florean Fortescue's.

James liked Hagrid, too. He was the keeper of the keys and the groundskeeper at Hogwarts, and he always would come over to the Manor every other Saturday to fish in the lake. He had taught James, Harry, Brian, and Travis how to hunt, to snag a fish, and how to field dress them to eat. Granted, at first they thought it was gross, but Lily and James Sr. admitted that knowing how to live of the land was a vital skill. Pretty soon they learned to enjoy it, and every other Saturday had become a greatly enjoyable tradition, especially when Dad decided to come along.

"All right there, James?" Hagrid asked, smiling down at him. "Yeh look like yer thinking abou' some'ing."

"Nah, I'm fine Hagrid," James assured. Hagrid was, too be honest, big. He had to be at least eight feet tall, and he wasn't necessarily _fat_, but he managed to pull off a rather wide girth. He had a mass of tangly, salt-and-pepper black hair with a matching beard, accentuated by his beetle black eyes. His voice had a gravelly boom, and he always had something to laugh about. He may have looked like a savage, but he really had a heart of gold, lined with diamonds (as James liked to joke, which always embarrassed Hagrid to the core) and James honestly had no idea how he could have gotten expelled from Hogwarts.

"Jolly good then, eh!" Hagrid boomed, slapping James on the back good-naturedly. Unfortunately for James, 'good-naturedly' had a tendency to send him stumbling forward a few steps.

"Lily, if you would like, do you want to split up?" Remus asked quietly, the first time he spoke the whole day. He looked tired, as if he had a serious hangover from last night. We'll cover more ground before lunch; give you more time for you and the boys to visit your sister. I know you wanted to take them there to celebrate his belated birthday."

"WHAT!?" Harry screamed, stopping dead in his tracks and staring at his mother with a look of betrayal.

"MOM!" the other three chorused despondently, pausing next to Harry. There was nothing James, Sirius, and the boys hated more than visiting their aunt Petunia, uncle Vernon, and their obese cousin, Dudley. Especially for his _birthday_.

Completely ignoring their protest, Lily continued wheeling her way down the cobblestone street. "That's a wonderful idea, Remus. Boys, would you come with me? We'll go get you fitted for robes and uniforms, and then select your wands while Remus and Hagrid go get the rest."

Lily gave Hagrid a knowing smirk, and Hagrid nodded in understanding. "All righ', Lily," Hagrid smiled, pulling his hands out his pockets and patting her softly, something he managed to do only with her.

"Well, boys, shall we head to Malkin's and Ollivander's?"

"Crap," Brian seethed disappointedly.

"Tell me about it," James coincided, shaking his head. "I hate not being able to visit the book store."

Brian stopped in his tracks again, and Travis stopped a little after, looking at him strangely. "_I was talking about visiting the Dursley's," _Brian mouthed.

Travis shrugged. "_James and his books_."

* * *

Glumly shuffling into Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, the boys quickly were pulled into different aisles of stepping stools to be fitted by pretty young witches dressed in fashionable robes and all sporting fancy haircuts, glamorous jewelry, and well applied makeup.

The shop itself was colored brightly with neon colors and stylish banners advertising back-to-Hogwarts sales. Racks of all different types of clothing, from pants, boots, shoes, sweaters, robes, traveling cloaks, hats, and gloves were assorted neatly in rows, with items going in the order of the body's symmetry from the North side of the shop down to the Southern. Harry, knowing his twin and his adoptive brothers from the several years of having them and only them as playmates, knew they would call the place "ritzy," with a taste of dislike in their tones.

Harry was taken by Madame Malkin herself, who despite being up there in age was still a modestly attractive witch. "You excited for your first year, dear?"

"Yeah, I hope to be a Gryffindor! My dad and mum were both in there, so I want to follow them," Harry replied conversationally, smiling his cute "I'm an eleven year old rich boy, adore me!" smile. Madame Malkin fell for it, hook line and sinker.

"That's wonderful dear!" she gushed as she took his shoulder measurements. "I personally was in Hufflepuff, to busy worrying about what I was going to wear to show all that bravery and nobility and ambition and intelligence. But you are strapping young lad, I'm sure you'll be a ripe choice for Gryffindor! Well, I'm off to fit those robes, don't you move, dear!"

"So," a snobbish voice drawled with a snort as Malkin left to the back. "You wanna be a Gryffindor? My father always says Slytherin is better."

A boy with silvery blonde hair cut short and slicked back tight to his skull stared at Harry curiously, almost as if he was trying to read him like a book.

"Oh, well I guess it's all a matter of opinion. I guess," Harry relented with a shrug, nervously thinking he didn't like the boy already.

"Psh, my father always knows best. You'd best remember that."

"I will," Harry blurted blankly, trying James's "just nod and say yes," tactic (which worked so well on their Mum,) out on the obviously Pure-blood boy. It obviously worked, as the boy put on a smug, arrogant smirk and squared his shoulders in disillusioned pride.

"Come along, Draco, I believe you are all done," the sharp voice of a women with similar bright blonde hair, but with a softer face, commanded from the end of the aisle.

"Later," Draco drawled, casting Harry a cocky smirk.

"Yeah."

* * *

James, Travis, and Brian were led to near the end of the line of aisles, next to a pair of girls their age. The two were chatting animatedly and fast-paced about something they couldn't make out; they all chose to ignore them.

"So how come you came back from your date early, Brian? Didn't Celestine Marie show?" James asked, trying to pass the time and prevent the witches that were fitting them from starting up a conversation; he knew they always tried whenever his mother came in, and he didn't want to talk fashion to a bunch of giggly teenage witches.

"Didn't show," he sighed with a shrug. "I guess she got lost at sea or something…"

James snorted. "Maybe Davie Jones and the Flying Dutchman kidnapped her from the beach."

"What?"

Brian scratched his head and nodded. "I'm with Travis, what on earth are you talking about?"

"You know, Celestine Marie, Mary Celeste…?"

"Uh… no."

"Oh."

"You're talking about the muggle schooner that was found abandoned on the Atlantic Ocean in December of eighteen seventy-two. It's a common maritime ghost story," one of the girls who were being chatty earlier answered.

"Wha- yeah… Who are you?" James asked her. She kind of reminded him of Audrey Hepburn, with a small, pretty face, open brown eyes and brandy colored hair.

"Stovold. Clare Stovold. And you are obviously a Potter," she quipped, looking him up and down appraisingly.

_No girl her age should be looking at _anybody_ like that_, James though uncomfortably. He shifted from foot to foot, as if worms had started crawling underneath his skin. _But the James Bond influence was a pretty cool touch. Too bad I hate socializing…_

"Judging from your muggle attire, with obvious North American influences, I'd say you were the one that until recently was missing, James Dean."

"Yeah, how did you-"

"You're famous, Mr. James Hetfield wannabe. You're one of…" she trailed off, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, "_The boys who lived_."

"'Boys who lived?' You mean when Voldemort-"

"DON'T SAY HIS NAME! ARE YOU CRAZY! YOU'LL, LIKE, GIVE ME AN ANEURYSM OR SOMETHING!"

"Okay, calm down, calm down," James hissed, as Travis and Brian erupted into laughter.

"Oh, God, an aneurysm!" Brian howled, punching his knee and earning himself a dirty look from the fitting witch, who he appropriately ignored. "Just because he said Vold-"

"Don't say it! Don't say it! Lalalalala!"

"You got issues."

"I do not! I do NOT! Excuse me for following the social norm for once in my life by fearing that raving lunatic! Are we done!?"

"Yes, Ms. Stovold, you can wait with your mother in the front of the store," Clare's fitter replied. Climbing off the stool, she sprinted down the aisle, before turning around. "Lyra! Come ON!"

"Go on," the other girl's fitter prodded, obviously miffed about all the distractions, and more than happy to see them go.

"We're going to have to remember that, dudes."

"Yeah, the next time we want people to leave us alone, we can just scream 'VOLDEMORT!'" Brian exclaimed, earning a small squeak from his fitter, "And everyone will just stop talking to us."

The three stood silent for a moment, as if contemplating. And then…

"VOLDEMORT!"

* * *

Quirinus Quirrell's mental companion felt the call like a loudspeaker in his ear.

_Someone is calling my name, Quirrell._

"Yes, my lord," Quirrell answered the Dark Lord neutrally. After he had found what he was looking for in Albania, which dare he say was more than he bargained for, he brought back Voldemort to his room at the Albanian inn, which was where they now secluded themselves in, scouring over Rasputin's journals.

_It matters not anymore, for the Potter brats will no longer exist and my path to power will no longer be impeded. And your silly little dreams of conquest will also end. You and Dumbledore will be alike in that aspect; once Harry and James Potter are dead, both of you will be powerless to stop me.

* * *

_

Ollivander's Wand Shop was a rumpled looking place that almost looked liked it had been rebuilt many a time. James had only seen it in passing, and it had always reminded him of an old ghetto crack-shack from Brooklyn. It was run by an old man named Ollivander, who James always thought of as a little of the wall; he'd seen the man rambling by himself about some wand he was making while chugging a pint at the Leaky Cauldron. A single wand lay on a dusty table next to the dirty window, its long length and articulate Celtic carvings along the shaft made James think of something straight out of a King Arthur fairytale, while the end of its length was lacquered a shiny black, gleaming in the late morning sun. The long, dusty shelves were assorted into haphazard aisles that teetered on the brink of collapse.

The door chimed glumly as the Potter's walked in, and Mr. Ollivander himself eerily walked from the back as if this was something he had choreographed. He was a tall, wiry, weathered old man with a wild tangle of "mad scientist "hair and small, half moon spectacles. His pale, misty blue eyes regarded James Dean and Harry almost like a blind man's gaze that seemed to see nothing, but everything, all at once.

"Hello," he greeted softly, his airy voice that while silky and lofty, seemingly pierced the passive air of the shop. "Ah, yes. Harry Potter. James Potter. You have your mother's eyes, the both of you… yes; it was like yesterday when she came to get her first wand. Ten and a quarter inch, swishy, made of willow with a unicorn hair core. Nice wand for charms work," Ollivander continued, walking towards them and getting so close to Harry he has almost nose-to-nose with him. "Also indicative of psychic energy, I understand that she is indeed a psychiatrist, no? That she has a keen insight into the human mind, hm?"

"Y-yeah," Harry sputtered awkwardly.

"Yes, I am, Mr. Ollivander. Do you think you have a wand for these boys?" Lily asked kindly.

Ollivander ignored her. "And your father, ever the eccentric. Odd sense of humor, it was fitting his choice of wand was a pliable mahogany wand, eleven inches long, and a core of dragon heartstring; a wand that was powerful with transfiguration."

Ollivander hacked a wheezy laugh and turned to and regarded James. "I say he chose out of context, of course. It is the wand that chooses the wizard."

James's curiosity over the quasi-sentience of wands was overcome by the awkwardness of Ollivander's odd rambling. "Yeah, right. The wand I had the night-"

"Don't say his name, boy. Yes, that wand. I remember him coming back for his second wand to replace it. Twelve inches, Ash, dragon heartstring core. The wand of a warrior."

"That's nice, Mr. Ollivander. Do you think you have a wand for these boys?" Lily asked again, a little more directly.

Ollivander seemed to snap out of a trance, and then seemed insulted. "Well of course I have one for each of them," he snapped. "I make the best wands for a reason, if they are true wizards, then they will be chosen by a true wand."

"But of course," Lily consoled. "You are the best."

"And don't you listen to anything that old bat Connery has to say on the matter! Now I say, who are these two? Other prospective _students_?" Ollivander finally seemed to notice Brian and Travis.

"Brian Gates. Junior," Brian answered stoically, standing firm with his arms at his sides.

"Ah…" Ollivander breathed, coming close to Brian and staring him down. "An artist. A free spirit with charcoal pencils for bones and music in your veins. May I measure you?" Ollivander took measurements of his arm and shoulders, and nodded with a click of his teeth. I know just the wand for you…" Ollivander trailed off as he pulled up a ladder and climbed up to a shelf. Pulling out a slender box, he came back to stand in front of Brian and stood straight and tall, as if he was about to confer an award rather than give a wand. "I believe you and this wand will fit together quite nicely. Bocote wood, eleven and a half inches, core of Manticore hair. An artistic warrior's wand. Also note, it is powerful in magic that deals with mental aspects, like occulomency and legilimency. In fact, Celestina Warbeck has a wand of Bocote wood."

"Uh… who?"

"The singer? Don't know her? Oh well, just hold the wand and give it a flick, m'boy."

Brian flicked it and it emitted a flash of silvery sparks. He grasped his wand holding hand in admiration and gushed. "Wicked! I love magic!"

Ollivander laughed and clapped his hands in satisfaction. "The art will out, no? And you," he turned to Travis, and gave him the same hard stare, then took his measurements. "I… believe… yes. I have just the thing…" again he trailed and ran his ladder off to go to a top shelf in the back. "Thirteen inches, one of the longest wands I've made so far… made of Cocobolo, with dragon heartstring. It seeks a companion of strength and stamina, who is more adept at defending himself rather than forcing himself upon others. A pacifist, if you will. Well, give it a good flick."

Travis flitted his wand with his wrist, and again, it shot out a burst of silvery sparks, and Travis grabbed his hand in awe. "Warm…"

"I say! Two and oh!" Ollivander cried merrily, before regarding both James and Harry. He took their measurements as well, and then regarded them once more. "Hm…"

It turned out that "Hm…" was actually a "I have no frickin' clue what wand the two of you should have, let's try some random ones and hope for the best," and Harry and James both tried what felt like every wand in the shop.

"Ten and three quarter inch, Holly wood with unicorn hair core." BANG! The shelf on the Northern wall fell over, spilling wands everywhere.

"Twelve inches, Ash wood, hippogriff feathers." POP! A flask of butterbeer in Ollivander's counter exploded and leaked the warm, smooth alcohol down onto the floor.

"Twelve and a half inches, Sycamore, House elf nose hair."

"What?"

"What? Twelve and a half inches, Sycamore wood, dragon heartstring." SNIKT! Ollivander's cutting tools from his workshop slammed into the wall, and punctured the wall a whole inch, slashing the boxes of wands lining it.

"Hm, indeed…" Ollivander rambled auspiciously. James and Harry tried each wand, with Harry flicking first and James trying next. Every single time something would explode or go flying off the shelves, and they both apologized profusely, but Ollivander seemed to be negligent of worrying about it. "No, no, lads, it's not your fault wands are picky to you! But I wonder…"

Ollivander once again flew off, leaving them left to wait as his mad genius worked again. "You two seem to be hard on wands," Lily joked conversationally.

"Not my fault, it's these bad jeans."

Lily laughed heartily and grabbed James's hand. "Hey, I remember that joke, when I first got the chance to meet you!"

"Yeah…" James smiled nostalgically. He wondered what would have happened if-

"Experimental works!" Ollivander exclaimed, waddling back with an armful of wand boxes that were not like the boxes on the shelves, which were cardboard. These were in flat, rectangular boxes made of polished wood. Dumping them unceremoniously on the scratched and scruffy table in the middle of the store, he picked up a box and pulled out a wicked looking wand that seemed like it belonged in the hands of Voldemort himself. "Makore, eleven inches, Basilisk fang core."

"Sounds… evil," Harry breathed dubiously.

"Yes, well…" Ollivander squirmed self consciously. "I wanted to try to make something a little more powerful than most… just give it a whirl."

Harry gave it a simple flick, and half the shop erupted in a flurry of flying wand boxes and toppling shelves.

"Well, that was disasteriffic." He sighed in relief.

"You think?" Harry asked indignantly, glaring at Ollivander as Lily repaired Harry's broken glasses.

"Ha, yes, well… try… oh my. Maybe… yes. Try this one. And you!" He pointed at James as he picked up the Makore. "Don't touch it! That wand is for the level headed, disciplined man! Not a clever prankster!"

"O-okay…" James drew back, a little disappointed and hurt at being called undisciplined.

Harry grasped the wand Ollivander handed him and immediately felt the warmth in his hand. He didn't even so much as twirl the wand before it shot out a flash of golden sparks. "Whoa!"

Ollivander drew his hands up to his mouth in excitement and nearly jumped for joy, before coming back down from Cloud Nine in a crash.

"What is it? What's wrong, Mr. Ollivander?" Lily asked, worried.

"Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Nice and supple. And it just so turns out that the very same phoenix who supplied the tail feather for this wand, also gave the feather to the wand that gave you that scar," Ollivander explained in a raspy whisper, pointing to Harry's forehead. "Ironic how these things happen, hm?"

"Oh my," Lily gasped. She wheeled over to Harry and wrapped an arm around his waist protectively.

"Yes, it is indeed curious… but alas, James needs a wand as well! What say you try this one, eh?" Ollivander veered away from the subject and quickly pulled a wand from the pile. "Beech, eleven inches, leprechaun hair-runespoor scale double-core. "Give 'er a flick."

James gave it a flick, and it didn't warm in his hand, but it did something equally curious.

As it vibrated in his hand, the wand showcased in the front door started humming in a high-pitched tone, and its tip lit up in a flash of silvery light. "Curious…" Ollivander muttered. He made his way over to the wand and picked it up reverently. "This wand was my grandest work- and my biggest failure… it never complied with an order, much less pick a master."

Ollivander turned and regarded James with pointed, quixotic stare that turned into his blank, blind-man gaze in thought. "Here you go," he whispered in a dry rasp, handing James the wand. "Eleven inches, polished Yew wood, braided Sphinx mane core."

James took the wand and as soon as it settled into his palm it felt like a rush of cold water, like walking into a warm room from the cold, and a feeling like _FINALLY_! that crushed him in a riptide of emotions all at once.

"Whoa," he panted.

"Whoa," Ollivander agreed, staring at the wand from over James's shoulder, with an expression of bewilderment mirrored on James's face.

"Are we missing something?" Brian interrupted. James was so washed up in his own feelings that he completely missed what he said or the confused expressions on his families' faces.

"I think James found his wand," Travis chuckled.

"That was kinda cool how it called to him," Harry piped up cheerily.

"Yeah…" James trailed off, staring at his new wand. It felt like was leaping for joy, but wands couldn't _think_, could they?

_Could_ they?


	8. Chapter 8: To Please A Mother

Okay, here it is! At long last...! The next chapter. Enjoi-

Oh, one more thing. A reminder on the disclaimer- I'm not the owner of anything in this story whatsoever. I'm making no money, or anything of the sort.

And a big thanks to my editor, she is awesome.

**Recomended Listening:**

**Song**- Mutter

**Artist**- Rammstein

**Album**- Mutter

Why this? Because I wanna. Ps- Rammstein is a very... graphic. If you are fluent in German, and are rather "innocent," don't listen. A fair warning.

* * *

"Whew, look at the time," Lily breathed heavily. "It's almost six!"

It was indeed late; the summer sun painted the sky a golden-orange as they shuffled out of Ollivander's shop and into the cobbled street. It was James's favorite time of day, where everything that had to be done was done and he could watch the blazing yellow orb retreat to the confines of the other side of the planet, filling him with a sense of peace.

"So we aren't seeing the Dursley's today?" James asked hopefully, staring up at the radial effect of red-toned colors skitter across the clouds.

"I guess not, but we missed Dudley's birthday and we are going to visit to wish him a happy one. Tomorrow."

"Aww…"

"Don't give me that," Lily admonished, wheeling down the street. "Let's head back to the manor, Hagrid has already left and Remus probably turned in early tonight."

* * *

The next day started much the same as the last, with Travis and Harry waking up James and Brian from the warm confines of their soft, comfy, king size beds. After a hearty breakfast whipped up by the culinary talent of House Elves, the entire family, James Sr. included, huddled around an official Ministry of Magic portkey.

James hated traveling by portkey. The sense of vertigo and the pinching, tugging feeling in his navel always annoyed him, as if someone had mostly numbed his stomach and then shoved a large iron hook into it, pulling as hard as they could. Harry, on the other hand…

"Ha ha ha…" he giggled childishly, rubbing his bellybutton lavishly. "I love that!"

"And how old are you?" James Dean snorted pessimistically. And for good reason; visiting the Dursley's would make even the Devil himself cringe.

"'Leven.'"

"Then act like it."

"Why so down, Jimmy Dee? You get a chance to beat up the Pig again," Brian sadistically pointed out.

"Correction: WE get to beat-"

James Sr. quickly turned around and regarded them scathingly. It was then that James Dean noticed the pained look on his mother's face, and that what they had said was not what she wanted to hear.

"Lily, why don't you and Harry go on up to the house, I'm going to talk to these three for a moment."

"Okay," she squeaked, trying obviously not to cry.

James Dean then fully realized the gravity of the situation. He hated making his mother cry.

Pulling the three of them into an alley way about a block away from Privet Drive, which had to be difficult sa he only had two hands for three kids, James Sr. then stood over them imperiously."There will be no such behavior. You will act like the gentleman you really are," James Sr. admonished. "And try to make this pleasant, for your _mother_," he seethed. "Every single time we meet the Dursley's, you three," he pointed directly at James Dean, Brian, and Travis, "SCREW." He almost screamed, while jabbing a finger at James Dean. "IT," he pointed next at Brian, while his voice got a few decibels louder. "UP!" He finally roared as he pointed at Travis.

"We won't…" James croaked, not fully understanding why his dad was so angry. Yeah, he was protective of their mother's feelings, but still, he never got so incensed whenever they did something about that. He had to have another reason why he was so mad, but what?

"But why does Dudley get away with taking away all our fun?" Brian asked in a small voice.

Sighing In defeat, James rubbed his temples and glared at them. "Violence is _never_ the answer, much less _fun_. I feared that this was something you would have learned during your "outings" in New York. I guess I was right."

Shame creeped into James Dean's mind, and he bowed his head. So that was it. And at that point he knew he had let his father, the man he admired most, down, He could take enraging his father, making him scream violently and curse in Arabic, German, and Japanese, but he hated disappointing him. Disappointed Dad was like failing oneself, and James Dean knew that he had really floundered this time. He felt like dying on the spot.

"I'm sorry dad…"

"Yeah," Brian moaned in regret as Travis remained quiet. "It's all our fault."

James looked at them in bewilderment. "What? Boys, no…" He kneeled down and pulled them closer to them in a sorta-kinda-hug. "You are kids, and whether you like it or not, you still don't know any better. You three and Harry are the best kids in the world, but even the best eleven year olds need guidance. And that's what I'm here for."

"But if you are only trying to mentor us, then why are you so… so…" James Dean trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"Disappointed?"

"Yeah," he nodded slowly.

James sighed again, and pulled them even closer. "I'm not disappointed at you, I am with myself."

"Huh?" The three chorused, and James Sr. laughed at their running gag.

"When Voldemort came to our house that night, I failed you, James Dean. I didn't die, and you didn't die, but the whole of us _should_ have. And I know you don't want me to tell you this, as I know you should look up to a parent, especially after having none for so long. But I'm not perfect."

"You didn't fail, Dad, mom said so!" James Dean argued, defending his father against himself.

James chuckled sadly, and shook his head. "Your mum and my views are different. She is a professional mind guru, and I'm an Auror. While she is probably right, I'm still entitled to my opinion, and that's that."

"You didn't fail, Dad," James Dean repeated. James drew them close and hugged them.

"I know, buddy, I know. Believe it or not, I'm proud to call you my son's."

"But… we aren't really your kids, right?" Travis finally spoke up, asking in a depressed voice. "Dudley rubs it into our noses all the time how we are just your "other kids" and stuff."

James got angry at this and tightened his grip. "Well, Dudley is a pompous, idiotic prat of a git and he deserves getting beat up by you three every time he bullies Harry and picks on you. He is a ponce, through and through, just like his git of a father. The only reason why I hold you guys by the collar is because your mother has this well-thinking but foolish idea that you five should get along."

"So…"

"So disregard everything he says. I may not be your blood father, but I am your father. Family is more than bloodlines, boys, and you and Brian are both as much sons to me as Harry and James Dean. Just try to get somewhat along with Dudley, for your mother's sake, okay?"

Travis nodded blankly, taken back by James Sr.'s acceptance. "Sure thing, Dad."

"Yeah, but if he raises a fist to Harry…" Brian started warningly.

James winked and sly noted, "You have my private permission to wrestle him back down to where he belongs. I'll still have to punish you for your mother's own sense of worth, but hey, it'll be our little secret."

* * *

Lily wheeled herself out of the Dursley's front door that night with a smile on her face. James Dean didn't pull a prank, Dudley didn't bully Harry, Brian hadn't started any fights, and Travis wasn't an introverted mute.

James was happy his boys didn't do anything. What got him was that while it was usually them that got in trouble, Dudley was the one who _always_ started it…

As soon as Lily and Harry were out of earshot once again, he pulled them to the side once more. "What did you three _do_?"

* * *

"_Hey, Duddykins!" James Dean greeted Dudley with false enthusiasm. _

"'_Sup, Big D!"_

"_Hey, idiot."_

"_What are you doing here?" Dudley sneered. "Don't your parents have an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting or something?"_

"_Oh, ho! Ickle Dudders has an expanded vocabulary!" James cackled snidely. "I'm _so_ proud. But we aren't here to exchange taunts, we're here to give _you_ a warning, fatty."_

"_A warning," Dudley drawled slowly, amused. "Ha ha, what makes you think a tiny little shrimp of a bloke like you can scare me?"_

"_The secret reason why your mummy and daddy didn't tell you the truth about my family, you dick."_

"_What!?" _

_James rubbed his hands and smiled. "The real reason why your parents hate us. Not because we're a bunch of trailer trash, which in reality we are not. It's… a power. A major, powerful power. And it could turn your whole life around if you step out of line today, or the next time we're here. Ever. I won't hesitate to do anything, Dudley, that threatens my mother's happiness. You remember that."

* * *

_

"You… threatened Dudley with magic?"

James Dean nodded sadly. "I know we weren't supposed to, but really, he didn't give us much choice. He was going to do something, Dad. And then we would have gotten ourselves in trouble and you would get mad at us."

"Magic isn't something you use to coerce somebody with."

"We know," Travis replied smartly. "I know that it is illegal, but really, what choice did we have? Dudley is guaranteed to do everything in his power to get us in trouble. He hates us because he was led to believe he was above us. That we were trailer trash and that you and Mom were alcoholics and druggies. So, if we can't stand up to him and get in trouble, _what_ are we supposed to do? _Let_ him beat us?"

James Sr. laughed and shook his head. "Again, your logic is sound, Travis. I'm not mad, and I wasn't before. When I was your age I would have done exactly the same thing."

* * *

31 August, 1991

"Come on, guys, get packed or you'll be late for the train tomorrow!"

"Sure, mom," James hollered down the stairs. "Yeah, sure," he grunted again to himself, as he tried to drag his trunk up to his room. The thing must have weighed a ton, but Travis had easily hefted _his_ up the stairs. "Stupid juicer…"

"Let Wackie help Master James with that, sir."

With a snap of fingers, the heavy trunk disappeared and rematerialized at the top of the staircase. Wackie stood alongside, barely an inch taller than the hardy, old oak luggage carrier. (He wore a smug grin that on any other house elf, for any other family, it would have been so out of place he would have been beaten with a frying pan.)

"Thanks, Wack. I owe you."

"Masters owe elves nothing, good sire," Wackie drawled slowly. "It's what Wackie does."

"I owe you regardless, buddy," James remarked, patting the short elf on the head as he trudged the trunk to his room.

Closing the door behind him as he strode over to his dresser, he began pulling clothes he wanted to bring with him to Hogwarts. Shirts, jeans, uniforms, sweaters, and other little inconsequential items were thrown haphazardly into the magically enchanted carrier. Next he threw in his books and school equipment. And then the owl-

Indeed, there was an owl, in its own cage, sitting upon James Dean's desk. The bronze bars of the cage gleamed in the morning sunlight, contrasting with the owl's black and cream colored feathers. A note on the side read:

"_So that you can write us every day, or at least every week, without you're brothers making fun of you,_

_-Mum, Dad, and Hagrid."_

"Wait, an owl?! When did we get our own owls?"

"Mom, Dad, and Hagrid bought us each one so that we can keep in touch," Travis hollered from his room.

"Huh," James grunted as he took another look at the snoozing owl. Its black feathers ran across the majority of its face and its wings and back, while yellowish cream colored feathers formed an "X" around the upper part of its amber eyes, as well as dusting its "cheeks," and dominated its stomach. "Wabbajack."

"What did you say?" Lily's voice pierced the shredding background of boys packing their trunks and screaming as they did so.

"Wabbajack, my owl. His name is Wabbajack."

"Ookay…" Lily jokingly drawled. "You're just like your father, you know that?"

"Huh?"

"Your father. You are just like him. The way you act, the way you think, the way talk, even your cock-eyed sense of humor. I'm just grateful you aren't-" Lily cut herself off, a pensive look on her face.

"Mom?"

"Nothing, nothing… so are you excited about finally getting to go to Hogwarts?"

"I guess. It's just school, right? Like a boarding school?"

"Well yes, but haven't I told you about Hogwarts?"

"Well, yeah…"

"And how much of it did you actually listen too?"

"Uh. Yes?"

Lily laughed softly. "Again, just like your father… Hogwarts is going to be unlike any school you have ever been to. It is a castle, a large and magnificent one. There will be ghosts-"

"Ghosts?" James asked half incredulously, half terrified.

"Ghosts. But they are, if not friendly, than at least hospitable and completely harmless. And you will find many portraits' subject to move inside their pictures, and even talk!"

"Talking paintings…"

"And ghosts. And quidditch. Oh my God, how your father loved that silly game! He was always telling me how when we would find you, he would take you and Harry to a Puddlemere United game. And then as soon as we found you-"

"Mom."

Lily looked at James with a lost look. "What?"

"Your point?"

"Oh," Lily stopped and looked at him blankly. "Yes, quidditch. You're father would go around with a snitch all day and ruffle his hair and act all cocky, as if he had just won the cup. It was so aggravating! And me and Alice-"

The dark, depressed look, which James knew didn't belong on his mother's face, disturbed him. "Mom?" he asked gently, worried that he had done something to make her mad. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes," she breathed out quietly. "I'm fine. Just fine. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for the excellent conduct you showed the other day with Dudley," she spoke shortly. She turned her wheelchair back out towards the door.

"Mom, that was a month ago."

"Oh," she stated blankly as she wheeled herself out. James swore he could have heard her sob, but…

Who the heck was Alice?


	9. Chapter 9: The Meeting of Troublemakers

Hello,rabid, few reader's. I pulled it off- two updates in a week! A special thanks to my editor, Forevermagic, and two my best fan, who I am now going to be writing with in a collab, Clare Stovold! Yay! And a big thanks to Silver Sailor Ganymede(sp?), who is quickly following Clare on the path to the Dark Side. You guys ROCK!!! Awesome people, them...

They are finally on their way to Hogwarts! But we still have a final, "before school" prank to pull on Percy the prefect, we have to meet the Bron- I mean Three Kings'(oops) future Queen(give ye a hint, she's Irish), Hermione, Ron, and the twins, as well as having a train and boat ride to cover. Fasten your seatbelts, kiddies, its gonna be one HELL of a ride.

**Recommended Listening:**

**Song**:_ Troublemaker_

**Artist**: _Weezer_

**Album**: _Weezer(Red Album)_

Well, here be Jimmy Dean's theme song. He is a troublemaker, through and through, and there is no escaping it. So are his buds, come to think of it... And so are Gred and Forge.

_**Renewed Disclaimer PLEASE READ AND UNDERSTAND!!!!**_: I do NOT own anything, and claim no rights or profit from this story, the **Recommended Listening's** songs or bands, or Metallica(they are mentioned in this Chapter(Yay for favorite bands!)

Without any more ado's, I bring you...

_**ENJOI**_

* * *

"Dad, who is Alice?"

James sprung the question on his father on the platform of nine and ¾ as his mother and brothers ran ahead to get their stuff onto the train. The look of shock on his Dad's face was unmistakable. He knew.

"No idea," was James Sr.'s curt answer.

Obviously.

"Mom mentioned her yesterday, and got pretty sad. I thought you would have known something…" James Dean prodded slowly and carefully, playing innocent. He knew that for some reason, it was a sore subject, and he wanted to know why. He deserved to know why.

James Sr.'s face slackened, and he looked like he was going cave, but then he sprang into a smile. "Hey, Travis, Brian, Harry! Come here! You're going to love this," he said as he looked back down at James Dean.

"'Sup, Dad?" Brian asked, lugging Donnie Way's old guitar case with him over his shoulder.

"I got some great news for you guys. You know how I always said you couldn't go to a concert because you were too young? Well, I decided that for this Christmas, you'll be old enough for your first."

"Oh, God," Travis cursed scathingly.

"What? No, this is so not cool…" Brian whined.

"Please tell me you aren't taking us to see some kiddy band again."

"Hey," Harry shot back. "I liked that band."

"Weird Sisters are just that- weird."

"No, no. It's not the Weird Sisters. Who's your favorite band?" James Sr. asked impishly, waving a UPS packet in his hand like a fan.

"Metallica?"

"Pantera?"

"Pantera? They haven't around long enough to _be_ a favorite!"

"Aww, shaddup!"

"Well, I kinda like Social Distortion."

"Well, you'll get to see all three, because they are having a Christmas show in London!"

"What! And Metallica just came out with their newest album! When?"

"Over _Christmas_. Their having a 'Ho Ho, Merry Metal Christmas,' show up in London. And all five of us are going."

"Yes!"

"Sweet!"

"Righteous!"

"But the Weird Sisters are still gonna be there, right?"

And in the aftershock of this news, with all the yelling excitedly and screaming like a school girl, James forgot all about Alice, because for all he cared, she could stay in Wonderland. He was going to see Metallica!

* * *

"Ah, Arthur! Arthur Weasley, it's good to see you, chap! And you too, Molly!"

"And you!" A tall, thin man with receding red hair answered jovially from across the platform. "All right, James?"

"Oh, it's good to see you too, James! And Lily, dear, how have you been?" Molly asked as Harry's mother wheeled herself towards the platform. A small girl followed her. Harry noticed her give him a double take, and shoot him a nervous smile. Bewildered, he smiled back at her oddly, and gave her a small wave. Her eyes bulged and she turned to her mother, babbling excitedly about something. As they disappeared in the crowd, Harry's dad kept up his conversation with Mr. Weasley. Put off that she would stare at him, and then turn around and act so differently, Harry felt like a dolt.

"Jolly good, mate. I thought you had work?"

Arthur laughed heartily. "I floo'ed off. Can't miss Ron's first time heading off to Hogwarts!"

"Ah, yes, he is going to, isn't he? Where is the champ?"

"Oh, around here somewhere. Probably trying to get away from Gred and Forge's pranks, you know he is a bit self-conscious about that... ah, there he is! Ron, come here! And this must be Harry!" Arthur's kind blue eyes shone down on Harry and he decided that he really, really liked this Weasley guy.

"Nice to meet you, sir."

"Well, Harry, this is Ron, my son and one of your new classmates! Don't you have another boy, or three?"

"Oh, James and his little pranksters ran off somewhere…"

A gangly, weedy kid with eyes the same brilliant blue and hair just as bright red waved shyly. His feet and hands seemed a little larger than what would have been proportional, and he had freckles lining his face, especially over the bridge of his long nose. His nervousness wasn't helped by the fact that he was standing in front of the Harry Potter, the one who defeated _the_ Dark Lord when he was one. Or, at least that's what it seemed like to Harry.

"Nice to meet you, Ron."

* * *

"What about him?" Brian asked, pointing at a tall, weedy looking kid with a dirty appearance. With goofishly large hands and feet, vivid red hair, and pastel blue eyes, he looked like a living muppet to James, or a realistic cartoon character. His red hair was cut haphazardly and he seemed really out of place, just standing there by a pillar. Easy pickings.

"Yeah, he'll do," James affirmed. They had gotten their luggage on board the train and they had gotten there early that morning, so now they had estranged themselves from their parents and Harry and went looking for trouble. And now, James Dean knew he had just found it.

"Ron! Come here!" A tall, similar looking man hollered happily, talking to their dad.

"It's Dad!" Travis pointed out.

"Obviously," James snorted. "Turn around, walk away…"

Their target would have to wait another day to be pranked. But to lay them over until then, they'd need a new guinea pig. So James led them off, back towards the direction of the magical barrier to King's Cross Station.

"I'm sorry, but that wall just gives me the creeps," Brian uttered with a shudder.

"Me too," Travis agreed.

"I think it's awesome," James said quietly, in an aloof voice. Brian and Travis looked at each other crossly, then back at James before simultaneously shoving him in the back.

"Hey!"

"You would like that thing, weirdo!"

"Well, I don't like portkeys!"

"Nobody likes portkeys!" Brian and Travis chorused.

"Well… hey," James started to defend himself again, but got lost looking at something across the platform. Or, to be more accurate, _someone_. "What about redhead number two?"

…

"Move over, Gred."

"I can't, Forge."

"Why the bloody hell not?"

"'Cause I'm against the bloody wall, you barmy git!"

"Oh."

"Shh, Percy the Prefect will hear us."

Fred looked down at his watch. The train would leave in half an hour, and time was flying. If he and George wanted to embarrass their perfect prefect brother, they needed to move, and soon.

"It's about time."

* * *

"He's even more perfect than the last," Travis breathed quietly in admiration. "Perfect. Officious. Tall. Geeky. And he looks like a complete and total arrogant moron."

"I sure do know how to pick 'em, eh?" James boasted quietly as he strode confidently down the platform, popping a piece of Drooble's gum into his mouth. He preferred muggle brands, but they didn't sell them here at the Hogwarts Express, did they?

"Let's just do this," Brian spoke excitedly, giddy from the excitement of getting a chance to pull off a perfect prank.

"Now, now," James chided, looking at a nearby clock. "We've got plenty of time."

"Yeah, half an hour, and Mom wants us on that train yesterday," Travis reminded James. "If we're doing this, let's do it."

"Agreed."

* * *

"Well, mother, the prefects need to be up front for the prefect meeting. I need to go," Percy stated importantly. "I'll see you at Christmas."

"Okay, dear, have a good term," his mother crooned motheringly, kissing him on the cheek. With a hug, and kiss back, he was on his way to the train. Yeah, he was headed to the prefect's cabin, but he was making a detour to see Penelope Clearwater first…

He loved Penelope. So smart, so beautiful, and she _loved_ to _study_. Percy loved studying too, and the perks of what happened after when their "attention spans," had run dry, well, that was icing on the cake. He could see her across the platform, and she caught his eye. She smiled, and then turned back to her parents. She told them something, probably a story similar to his, and proceeded to walk straight towards him. He shook his head, and then jerked it in the direction of a darkened alcove in the corner of the platform. She nodded with a mischievous, feline grin and made her way towards it.

Oh, how he loved Penelope Clearwater.

* * *

"Okay, you got the trigger?" James asked Brian.

"Check."

"You got the works?" he then turned to Travis.

"Double check," Travis answered, holding up both of the magical firecrackers.

"Jolly good, then."

* * *

"You got the liquefied candy, Forge?"

"Yeah," George answered.

"Got that chicken, Lee?"

"All three, actually," Fred and George's best friend replied, holding up a sack that was magically enhanced to hold more than its actual volume.

"Wicked! Now, we move."

"Roger," Lee and George replied, grinning evilly.

* * *

"Looks like he's about to get some nookie," Brian cackled evilly.

"Shut up, they'll hear!"

* * *

"Did you hear that?" Penelope queried as Percy pulled his lips from hers.

"What?"

"That noise, I think someone's coming!"

"They won't see," he assured her as he began snogging her again.

"Perce!" She nudged as she pulled him off of her. "Check it out!"

* * *

James, Travis and Brian snuck up to the alcove's corner just as Fred, George, and Lee Jordan came up from the opposite side. Both motioning their respective teams to be quiet at the same time, they were so intent on watching the secretive couple that Fred and James failed to notice each other.

With a valiant leap, they both sprung from their hiding points behind the wall… and slammed right into each other. And as their followers followed, they too, collapsed into one another.

By a stroke of unfortunate fate, the owl trolley rolled right behind them, and Fred and James went spiraling backwards into it with a loud, boisterous mixture of angry owl hoots, surprised chicken clucks, and a string of _never-kiss-your-mother-with-that-mouth _curses. And the feathers flew. Not least a gallon of liquefied candy and an aerial bombardment of fireworks.

Penelope peeled herself from between Percy and the wall, screaming. She ran for the safety of the train as Percy stared at the cursing, squirming, and kicking pile of twenty owls, three chickens, his brothers, their friend, and a group of young new students.

Walking away, he looked over his shoulder and muttered, "Idiots!" _Oh, if this was at school…_ he thought to himself darkly. _They would be in detention until pigs flew!_

* * *

Finally calming down, Fred and James looked up at each other, and pointed their fingers at one another. "You! You ruined our prank!" They chorused. "Wait, what? Who are you!? Shut up! Stop saying everything I'm saying!"

Staring at each other thoughtfully, the elder regarded the younger thoughtfully, and vice versa.

"You were trying to prank my brother?"

James nodded. "We decided he looked like a good target. Arrogant prick."

Fred laughed. "True, that, mate. True that," he said as he held out his hand. "Weasley. Frederick Galahaut Weasley."

James took his hand firmly and shook it in mutual admiration. "Potter. James Dean Potter."

* * *

Kiara Emmaline Kennedy followed her authoritative father at a hurried pace as his tall legs strode through King Cross Station, everybody getting out of his path. It seemed as if everyone, and not just her, feared him. That gave her young heart a slight amount of solace as he led her to the Hogwarts Express.

"Now Kiara," his deep voice boomed as he regarded her coldly before she got on the train. "I don't want any funny business. Yer aul wan would be disappointed if ye disgraced the family and its name. Ye get into Slytherin. Ye get top marks. Ye stay out of trouble. Or _else_."

"Yes, da," Kiara answered meekly, grasping her teddy bear to her in fear. "I won't let ye down, sir."

"Good. Ye can start now by growing up right now. Give me that clatty old bear."

A sliver of fear snaked up her spine. Her bear? Morgan, the stuffed toy her mother had given her when she was three?

"But-"

"No buts," Kieran hissed angrily. "Gimme that _bear_. It will be on yer bed when ye return."

Defeated, Kiara gave her father her most valued possession, knowing that it would be long lost by the time her first year ended, buried in a landfill or blasted to bits in some magical trash collector. "Yes, da."

"Very good," Kieran replied coldly. "Ye're learning what it takes to be a follower of our Lord. Now, go find a compartment, I'd prefer that ye sit with that Malfoy bloke. He's a good Pureblood."

Kiara nodded numbly and turned to find a compartment, knowing full well she wouldn't sit with Draco. He scared her beyond belief, with all his Pureblood mania. He once told her, in detail, what his father had wanted to do to muggles. The scary images were almost as bad as her papa… And besides, what did muggles ever to do to deserve such mean things?

Walking down the corridors timidly, she looked for a compartment to sit in. Knowing that Draco and his future Slytherin mates would be in a full train car due to their posh furniture, she looked for a semi-empty hiding hole she could curl into and read a book, or maybe nap the ride away…

Unfortunately, after a half hour of wandering, she found no such place. Nearing the shaky, trembling back of the train, she found a car that was almost full of boys. The one she noticed first had a head of flame red hair, and was inquiring another boy about something on his forehead. Another was a black kid with long, braided dreadlocks down his neck with a strong looking physique and a warm, somewhat aloof kind of air about him. Another boy, who looked like he had a bit of Scandinavian in him, was strumming a worn guitar lovingly. His sculpted, angular face was beset by blank, hollow eyes that were so dark they were almost black, which really scared her. The boy next to the window, a pale, mousy looking kid with shaggy, dark red hair and a pair of vibrant green eyes, looked out of the glass pane with a smile on his face that belied his enjoyment of the soft, repetitive music.

But as soon as she turned her attention back to the black-haired boy who was showing Red his forehead, she fainted. He was Harry Potter!

* * *

After he and Fred shared introductions, the six pranksters promptly bugged out of that spot, as a group of King's Cross workers were making their way to the scene. With a flick of their wands, the three elder boys cleaned themselves up of the hardening gooey candy and firework soot. And with a promise to see them at school, the two redheads and their black friend Lee blew through the crowd, instantly disappearing. James, Travis, and Brian, followed immediately, quickly jumping aboard the train.

James was, quite frankly, glad that they got away from the prank without alerting their parents, although he was sure they would hear about it later. But that would be from word of mouth, and then they would only send an angry letter asking for an explanation. They'd write back, say it was an accident, nothing more, and get off scotch free. No problemo. All in all, not a bad cleanup for a failed attempt…

And the parentals couldn't make a big deal on the platform, because the train was on its way. Getting on board in time for the whistle to blow, it took Brian, James and Travis little time to find Harry and his new friend Ron, the shy looking kid they had originally planned on pranking, in their own compartment. It turned out that Fred and George were his older brothers. Settling in, they began to start getting to know each other.

It turned out that Ron could actually talk. A _lot_. He talked about everything from his family, and how poor they were, to which exact details about quidditch that he loved.

"So when I was about five, my brothers Fred and George, they're the twins, "Gred and Forge," they like to call themselves, tried to turn my old stuffed bear into a spider when-"

A sudden sound of someone being frightened finally shut Ron up. James, upon hearing the gasp, immediately stood. A girl, short and skinny, with long, dark brunette hair and pale, faintly freckled skin had fainted and fallen to the floor in a heap.

"Travis, grab her shoulders," he ordered quickly. Grabbing hold of her knobby knees, he helped his brother lift her up into the last open seat.

"Oi, whatcha think that was about?" Ron asked. The self confessed last born Weasley boy regarded the girl in slight amusement. James didn't like his assessment of the situation; what if something was wrong with her? Laughing at someone's expense because you harmlessly pranked them was one thing, but what if she could actually be hurt? "Think she saw Harry's scar?"

"Maybe," James answered, looking her over with concern. "But why would she faint at some stupid scar? Is she really that squeamish?"

"Are you bloody kidding me? That scar is why Harry's famous!"

"Because of Voldemort?" Travis asked flippantly, trying to piece together what Ron was getting at.

Ron, however, merely gasped as frantically as the girl did. "Don't say his name! Don't say it!"

"What?" James asked, feeling stupid. "Voldemort?"

Ron's eyes bulged more and stared at James in fear and respect. "Of all people, I would never have suspected…"

"So what? It's just a name."

"It's not like we're being brave," Harry stipulated. "We just keep forgetting that his name isn't something people like hearing."

"Oh. But still. You said his name!"

"Okay, okay, calm down. Geez," Brian sighed as he slapped Ron's back. "It's just a name."

"So, do you… uh…"

"What?" James asked as he looked over the girl again.

"You know… remember?"

"When he attacked us?"

"Well… yeah."

"No."

"I remember hearing a woman, like my mum, screaming. And then a green light…"

"Oh," Ron breathed in awe. "It's nothing short of a miracle you and your parents lived, isn't it? I mean, to survive a Killing Curse…"

"The Potter family has a lot of secrets," James said thoughtfully as he worked on aligning the faint girl into a comfortable position before covering her with one of his robes. "Or so Dad and Mom say. But it isn't something we'll even be able to understand. It's complicated magic."

"Oh," Ron answered, looking slightly embarrassed. "I guess that makes sense."

"Not really," Travis snorted hollowly. "Nothing complicated about it; there is no recorded spell in all history that _prevents_ death."

"Dark magic, maybe," Brian pointed out. "Maybe there was some wizard or witch back in the old days. Dad has said that the Potter line is not exactly 'pure.'"

"Pure as in blood?"

"No, it's pureblood. But he means… good or evil."

"Oh."

"You say that a lot?"

"Oh- I mean, no, not really…"

James snickered at Ron's awkwardness. "Somebody close that door, will ya?"

Harry closed the door to the car as James then sat next to the girl. "She looks… skinny."

"Well of course she's skinny," Ron chortled, trying to veer himself away from the past subject. "She's eleven years old, and most likely not a big eater. She's a girl, remember?"

"Yeah," James reluctantly agreed. But something still seemed… off to him.

The compartment door slid open, and a portly, but kind looking old woman peered in. "Anything sweet off the trolley, dears?"

A bushy-haired head popped in after her, almost screaming in a high-pitched snobby voice, "Have you seen Neville Longbottom's toad?"

"No toads, and now, no thanks!"

"What?" Ron asked, looking confused.

"James hates amphibians," Harry explained. "I'll take some of everything."

"Okay, dear," The candy-cart lady smiled nicely.

"Ampha-what?"

"Never mind…"

As Harry hauled his lot of sweets back into the compartment, Ron pulled a packed lunch bag out of his trunk. Looking at the dry, boring sandwiches, he grumbled, "She always forgets that I hate corn beef."

"So, take some cauldron cakes, bro," Brian grunted as he picked up a Chocolate Frog. "Other than these, they're the only other magical candy I can stand to eat. The rest is just too weird. Hey, it's Dumbledore! Uh… who's Dumbledore, again?"

"A'gweed," Travis mumbled over his cauldron cake. "What we need is some Hershey's. Good ole' fashioned milk chocolate. And Dumbledore is the headmaster of Hogwarts. The head _honcho_, 'migo."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked, ignoring Travis and looking unsure if it would be okay to take some of their food.

"Harry always buys too much- eat some while you can, keep the runt from bouncing off the walls."

"Um…?"

The five boys snapped their heads up, looking at the bushy haired girl standing there, oblivious that she had stood there the entire time. Ron looked embarrassed, Harry quizzical, and James, Travis, and Brian annoyed.

"Can we _help_ you?" James asked in an aggravated tone.

"Neville Longbottom's toad? Have you _idiots_ seen it?"

"Haven't seen it, we told you as much. Now, anything else we can repeat for you?" James was a lot of things, but an idiot?

"No need to be a git," the girl seethed, her large front teeth bared, making her look like a squirrel. It looked like he was looking at another living cartoon, and he had to stifle a laugh.

"Want me to be polite? Tell me your name before popping into our compartment as if you own it."

The girl's jaw dropped in shock, as if she was thinking_: how dare he?_ "Hermione Granger."

"Hermoine Gran_guh_, huh? Well, I'm James Dean Potter, so nice to meet you," James grinned snidely, speaking with a pseudo-English accent and holding his hand out sarcastically. When she stared at him angrily, he dropped it and quipped, "Trust me, if Neville's toad showed up, I'd have caught it and brought it to him. Now, as we aren't really looking like we're gonna be friends, can you leave?"

"And to think people like Neville idolize _you_."

"Only the right people. I hear the Malfoy's hate me already."

"Only because you can't treat people with proper respect."

"Wanna hold your chin higher? I'm sure if your nose is raised a little more, you could brown-nose God himself."

Hermione's jaw dropped a second time, and she seemed a little lost for words. After closing and opening her mouth for a few moments, she simply turned on her heel and left the compartment. She was talking hurriedly under her breath as she made her way down the hall, and as she stormed away, Brian stuck his face out of the doorway and quipped a short, "And close the door next time!" before slamming it shut.

* * *

The rest of the train ride was quiet. Ron and Harry continued to hit it off, talking about various magic they thought they would learn through the year as Brian and Travis took turns strumming random tunes on the guitar. James kept an unusually quiet vigil over the girl the entire ride, earning awkward looks from the others, but he didn't care. They didn't want to go get help? Fine. They didn't care that the girl could actually be in trouble? Fine. He was just glad they had kept their mouths shut. That snob Hermione had pushed his gears beyond the breaking point, which was so unusual that he almost didn't know how to calm himself down.

By the time a group of prefects stopped by to tell them to get dressed in their uniforms, the sleeping girl still hadn't woken up. Slightly worried, he voiced his opinion as they were changing.

"Speaking of girls, I don't feel comfortable stripping down to my skivvies with a girl in here," Ron whined.

Brian rolled his eyes. "Why, got something you dun' want her to see? She's asleep, man, she ain't gonna see nothing."

"But what if she-"

"Do you guys think she's okay?" James interrupted again as he tugged his last sleeve on. "She's been out a long time…"

"So try actually waking her up, you dolt," Travis replied smartly, buttoning up his shirt. "Just… wait until we're outta here, aight?"

"Whatever," James shot back. As the train came to a stop, the rest of the guys piled out without so much as a look towards the girl. Ron and Harry were the first out, walking quickly and babbling about quidditch. Travis, aloof and nonchalant, strode out after them, hauling his trunk purposely. Brian shot James an apologetic look and shrugged.

"I'd help, but between me, my trunk, and the guitar case, it would be-"

"Just go, bro, I'll meet you up there."

Brian nodded and shot James another pathetic look. "Sorry…"

James sighed and regarded the girl. Gently, he shook her shoulder to no response. With another shake, she stirred and mumbled something about a "papa" before trying to curl into her seat. With some vigor, he shook her again and with a "Hey," her eyes snapped open.

Upon falling to his face, her bright blue orbs immediately went from drowsy to panic.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy," James laughed as she tried to back away from him, despite himself. "I don't bite. Well, maybe a little."

The girl's eyes, which James thought couldn't get any wider in fear, did. "Hey, I'm kidding. I'm James-"

"Dean Potter, I know who ye are."

"Well, you know more than me by now then. What's your name?"

"K-Emmali-Emma."

"Kayemilyemma. That's a name," James joked with a snort of laughter. "At least I'll remember it, as strange as it is."

The girl's face flushed heavily with embarrassment, causing her face to turn from porcelain pale to a burning red, making her opaque freckles disappear. "E-Emma. It's Emma," she finally sputtered, her Irish accent finally registering to him. It seemed pretty cool to him. "What time is it?"

"Well, it's nice to meet ya, Em. It's almost six. Care to get dressed in your school robes? We're at Hogsmeade Station, and I really don't wanna get caught on this train."

"Oh, yeah, yes, okay," Emma stammered.

James smirked and stood up. "I'll wait for you out here," he said, pointing to the emptying train's hallway.

"Okay," she said, gripping her trunk with white-knuckles. She hurriedly opened it and didn't wait until he was fully out of the compartment before starting to change.

_Those were the bluest eyes I have ever seen…_ He slid the door shut, but not before Emma had begun to pull her shirt up. And James swore he could see dark blue marks and angry red welts all over her back.

* * *

"Hey," the voice coming from the shaking blackness barked, firm and officious, but yet, kind. Any thought in Kiara's mind that her father was waking her up from a bad dream was thrown from her mind. She opened her eyes, and almost swore she had awoken to a real nightmare.

James Potter, someone who, if her father could see right now, would probably be dead, was looking down at her with concern in his pale green eyes. Hysterical, she tried to back away, curl into herself and pray he didn't hurt her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy," Potter laughed, amused by her terror. How could anybody enjoy this… this… _torture_? But why did he sound so nice at the same time? "I don't bite. Well, maybe a little."

_What a prat!_ Emma thought to herself in consternation, as well as fear. She could have sworn she was going to wet herself, but he just grinned confidently. "Hey, I'm kidding. "I'm James-"

"Dean Potter. I know who ye are," Kiara spat out before she could twice about talking. Mentally, she kicked herself. She was supposed to be a husky, hearty Slytherin, not a bumbling mud-blood Hufflepuff! But wasn't that last statement sort of headstrong?

"Well, you know more than me by now then. What's your name?"

Her name? He actually wanted to know her name? The popular, celebrity James Dean Potter wanted to know her, of all people's name? "K-"no, she hated her first name, being named after her father. Maybe her middle name? "Emmali-"No, she hated her goofy middle name, too. Maybe just… "Emma?"

"Kayemmilyemma. That's a name…" Potter snorted with a chuckle. "At least I'll remember it, as strange as it is."

Is he flirting with me!? Kiara thought half excited, half embarrassed. She was flattered that someone of his stature would try, but she wasn't supposed to even acknowledge him. After staring at him like a beached fish, she finally got her voice back. "E-Emma. It's Emma," she finally spouted, sounding like a git while doing so.

"Well, it's nice to meet ya, Em. Care to get dressed in your school robes? We're at Hogsmeade Station, and I really don't wanna get caught on this train."

"Oh, yeah, yes, okay," Emma conceded. She didn't want to get stuck on the same train as her supposed enemy, regardless of how nice he seemed. And if he knew about her heritage, he'd probably cut the niceties and start treating her the way she knew he should; coldly.

Potter grinned arrogantly and stood up from his kneeling position in front of her. "I'll wait for you out here."

"Okay," she agreed with a nod. _You don't have to. And in fact, please don't… _

As James left her to change, she couldn't help but think, _Those were the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen…_ Shaking her head from such silliness, she began to change.

* * *

"Ye didn't have to wait for me," Emma said as they walked off the train. Usually, the porters took care of luggage removal, but he had still brought a bag with him. Slung over his chest, and seemingly weighed down by books, it made him look older and more mature than he was. _Hell_, she thought to herself. _He _is_ more mature than he looks._

"I did. Don't want you to faint again, do we? You might miss getting to Hogwarts all together."

"I ain't gonna pass out again, ye clatty yank! I be just fine," Emma asserted, acting pseudo-proud of herself.

"Fortune favors not the weary," Potter answered back wisely. Tossing his trunk onto the luggage dolley, he then grabbed hers and put it on for her, as well. "Excuse me if I'm concerned about a fellow classmate," he continued smoothly, smiling at her with that cocky, lop-sided grin. "So instead of being unpleasant, why don't we talk about something that doesn't put us at each other's throats."

Emma nodded mutely as she followed him as he walked to the line where a large man was calling for the first years to assemble. And then a thought ran through her mind: "Okay… do ye reckon we got ta ride across a lake to the castle, like all the others were sayin'?"

"Oh, I know we have to. The groundskeeper here is a family friend, and he rides the first years over every year, in a fleet of small boats. Sometimes someone falls out, and then always scream in terror from the giant squid, but he says it's completely harmless. Actually helps out, so he says, so no worries!"

That didn't help ease her tension much. Why couldn't they just ride in the horseless chariots that she saw the older students hop into earlier? And the fact that he seemed like he was looking forward to such a thing scared her even more; the last thing she needed was to get caught with a troublesome thrill seeker.

"Oh, come on, man. It isn't gonna be that bad!"

"Says ye, ye bloody Yank. Ye ain't never done this before, either. So shut yer piehole."

"Fine, fine," he amended, holding his hands up in defense and exaggerating a "backing off," motion. "What's a Yank?" he then asked curiously.

"An American. Ye talk like a neddy Yank."

He shifted the bag over his shoulder as they came up on the group of first years standing in a line before a towering man in a ratty leather coat. "Oh. Well, I did live in an orphanage for a while…" he started, but trailed off quickly.

"Ye what?"

"Nothing, it's nothing. Just a beautiful night, is all," he averted, looking up at the sky.

"No, now I'm curious," she pressed.

"About?"

"Ye living in a kiddy house."

"Lemme guess, you want to be sorted into Slytherin," he retorted, looking slightly annoyed.

"What's th-"Before she could even think of shooting back or disagreeing or anything, she was cut off by a deep, booming voice.

"All righ' James!"

"Fine Hagrid! How about yourself?"

The towering oaf of a man was looking down from the front of the line of first years with a broad, friendly smile. With wild, salt and pepper black hair and a large, bushy beard, he looked like a bumbling savage to Emma. But he seemed to know James personally, so he must be _somewhat_ important.

"Can't complain. Ye're a wee late, got anything to do with the lady wi' cha?"

James laughed and shook his head as all the heads of the people she knew were purebloods turned to look at the "girl standing with a Potter." Draco Malfoy's blue-grey eyes burned at her, and she cringed; again, he reminded her of her da. James ignored their scathing looks.

"Just a precautionary measure, no worries! She's making sure I don't get lost!"

Hagrid laughed a hearty, booming laugh and slapped his thigh. "You, getting lost! Ha ha, and the giant squid is Godric Gryffindor! Ah ha ha! Well, I guess it's tha' time, firs' years! Time to head on down to the boats."

"Boats?" A brown-haired kid asked. "I can't swim!"

James chuckled as the line moved. "Don't worry, bro, I'll save you."

"Oh, my _hero_…"

The group of kids in the back all laughed, including James himself. And then everyone grew quiet in a palpable, tense silence that made Emma's stomach twist and turn. She was about to start Hogwarts. She kind of, sort of just made friends with the son of the man her father had sworn as his enemy. And now she was about to cross the Black Lake in a cramped, small boat.

The woods, dark and eerie, did not help. But when Hagrid announced that the first sight of Hogwarts would be in view after the bend, a collective "Ooh!" elicited itself from the class. Sparing a glance at James, she noticed that he seemed, calm, cool and collected. In fact, he seemed to be almost oblivious to the fellow first years. Everyone had a look of concern, or excitement, or even fear. But James had a goofy, laid back smile gracing his features and he seemed to be lost in his own world. She envied his coolness.

If there was excitement drawn from Hagrid's statement, then the actual sight of the castle Hogwarts caused uproar. Many of the students gasped and pointed at the tall towers reaching to the stars and the solemn turrets standing an ironclad, silent vigil over the grounds. James, Kiara noticed, was looking at it in a different kind of awe; as if he was seeing something more than just an artfully built structure of rock and steel. As if he was seeing something more… poetic. The look of fear, excitement, and horror written on his face made her curious as to what he was thinking. But before she could let her imagination wonder, he shifted his face again and looked at her with a crooked grin. "Ladies first," he said, pointing at the boat.

She cursed herself in her head. How did she get so lost that she had lost track of where they were? Stepping into the boat carefully, she took her seat at the bow and settled in. James followed, as well as the brown-haired boy who couldn't swim, as well as his mate, a square-faced boy with dirty blond hair and gleaming brown eyes.

"Everyone settled in?" Hagrid asked, looking to make sure everyone was settled in. Right, then- FORWARD!"

The boats lurched forward suddenly, making Kiara start and emit a squeaky "Eep!" James and the two boys laughed quietly, but then passed into an awkward silence.

They stared at James, looking slightly embarrassed. James looked back, obviously feeling like an animal on display, but knowing that they couldn't help their gawking. "So…" he started, obviously trying to break the ice.

"You're James Potter," the blonde stated dumbly.

James laughed and looked to Kiara sheepishly. "Looks like I'm caught with people knowing more than me…"

She giggled. She couldn't help it; he was just… funny.

"Michael Corner!" The brown haired bloke all but shouted, holding out his hand. His brown eyes belied his nervousness, but he was sincere, at least.

James took his hand and shook it firmly. "Nice to meet you, man."

"Terry Boot," the blonde said as he held his hand out, acting a little more smoothly than his friend. He was still a little nervous, but he had his act together.

After shaking his hand as well, James reclined back into the boat and sprawled his arms across the side of the boat. "So, what are you thinking we'll get into? House, I mean?"

"I hope to get into Gryffindor," Terry spoke up. He leaned back against his side of the boat, as well. "My dad, he was a Gryffindor. Mum was a muggle, though… she is a doctor, so she hopes I get in Ravenclaw."

"I want to be in there, too. I'm real smart," Michael said sincerely. "My parents are both muggle-born, so I guess I'm a half-blood."

"Well, we all know my story, so excuse me if I don't tell you something you already have knowledge on."

The two other boys shared a laugh, before turning to Emma. What about you?"

"Me? Oh, well… I-uh… I don't really know."

She really didn't want to say "Slytherin" in front of two muggle-connected boys and a Death Eater's worst nightmare.

"What?" Terry asked.

"Why?" Michael inquired curiously.

"Exactly!" James stated firmly. "What house I get into, I get into. Why fret?"

Kiara smiled slightly. He had saved her from a lot of explaining.

"I guess that makes sense," Terry consented, not really buying into it.

"Yeah."

" I dunno, call me weird, man."

"You're a bloody loon, mate! How can you be so calm?" Michael burst out.

"It's in the jeans, my man. It's in the jeans…"

"Hey, Jimmy Dean!" Brian's voice called out from the boat riding alongside theirs.

"Yeah?"

"Want a treat before we get to the Great Hall?!"

"Eh, why not. You guys want something?"

"What's he got?"

"Whatcha got?!"

"A bag of Bertie Bott's, a chockie froggie, some candy wands, those whizzbee things, cockroach clusters, oh, _gross_, and a thing of razor bugs!"

"I'll take a wand. What you guys want?"

"I'll take the beans."

"Fizzing whizzbees."

"Want something, Em?"

"Oh, uh… no, you don't-"

"Two wands, a whiz, and the bag of beans!"

"Righteous!" Brian affirmed. He tossed the first two items into the boat with ease. But when he tossed to two wands, he misjudged the distance and James had to lean pretty far out of it to catch them, making it tip dangerously close to the water. Kiara gave out a high-pitched scream and latched onto James as he hauled candy wands in.

He laughed and wrapped a friendly arm around her. "Calm down, its aight, okay? Here, take the wand."

She released her death grip on his waist and took the candy tentatively. Her da never let her eat much candy, but her mother had bought her a lot when she was younger… and Liquorice Wands were her favorite. Terry and Michael dug into their candy ravenously while James had stuck his into the corner of his mouth and leaned back into his comfortable position, looking out at the night sky, as if lost in his own world.

Kiara was learning that he did that a lot.


	10. Chapter 10: The Sorting

And its time for another update! The weather for this chapter is forecasted to be bright, with a chance for references to the future! In the world of politics, Lily Potter won ten galleons for being right! Clare Stovold and her forever-bored friend Lyra make their second appearance! Harry and Ron become best mates! And the Ravenclaws go wild!!! And what does Roger Davies have to do with anything?

_**Reccomended Listening: **_

_**Song**_: The Rookie

_**Artist/Composers**_: Martin O'Donnell and Michael Salvatori

_**Album**_: Halo 3: ODST Official Soundtrack

Why this song? Because James Dean is a rookie. A noob. And he just can't k1ll h1s fr13ndz. And if you can understand what that means without looking at it more than three times, we both need to seek a romantic companion. Yay for dateless losers?

_**Disclaimer**_: I am in no way financially or otherwise entitled to anything in this story. And neither are YOU. Unless you are J.K. Rolling. You know,  
"Rowling" spelled phonetically? Oh God, please don't kill me, J.K. Rowling, I was only joking! You are better than the Rolling Stones, so much better! AH!

_**ENJOI**_

* * *

James was the first one to disembark from the boat. His cock-sure, easy going gait gave the other three a boost in their confidence; Michael Corner and Terry Boot strutted behind him, as if to say "_we just befriended the biggest man on campus_." Emma tagged along behind, looking unsure, but her spirits did seem to rise, a little.

James walked straight to his brothers, and gave each of them a weepy, sarcastic hug and claimed obnoxiously that he had missed them. The other students laughed at their responding antics; Travis babbled about how without James he was lost like a love-sick girl, Brian giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek, and Harry looking sheepish about getting hugged in public. He even gave Ron an around-the-shoulder embrace, much to both of their surprise. Emma, having nowhere else to really wait, stood in their general vicinity.

"So, this is the highly esteemed Hogwarts," Brian breathed, rubbing his hands to ward off the chilly night air. "Looks like any old castle to me."

"Are you kidding me?" Hermione Granger's voice called out from the middle of the flock of students. "This castle has so many enchantments-"

"Yes, yes we know, bookworm," Travis interrupted. "You're not the only muggle-raised person to read Hogwarts: A History. Still, it can't be more extravagant in its wonder than Potter Manor. Its staircase doesn't change color in sunlight, now does it?"

A couple of kids laughed at her being shot down, and she didn't shoot back a reply. James figured she had to be more than a little peeved, and the other kids next to her had to have fearing for their lives, being saddled next to the snob.

"I read that book," Clare Stovold declared as she dragged her friend by the elbow to where James was standing. "Hi, James!" she exclaimed as she gave him a hug. Playing along, he gave one back.

"Hey, Clare, and… uh…"

"Lyra," the bored looking blonde stated. She looked at James with her blank gray eyes shortly before crossing her arms over her chest and looking at the ground.

"Don't mind her; she's never interested in anything. Not like me, I find things fascinating! Like muggles. How do they possibly get along without magic? It simply blows me away…" Clare trailed off as she walked away, carelessly dragging her bored best friend with her.

"Hey, lemme go, Clare! Maybe I found that piece of earth fascinating!"

"But of course you didn't, silly! You wouldn't find a dragon roaring in your face remotely, even slightly disturbing."

"Okay… that was weird."

"Ha, tell me about it…"

Hagrid was knocking on the front door to the entry hall, awaiting a response. The heavy doors opened to a tall, fierce looking woman with shimmering emerald robes. All the chatter stopped and all attention was brought to her. Her long black hair was pulled back tightly to her head, hidden beneath a pointy witch hat, making her striking features even more sharp. Her green eyes, keen with appraisal, scanned the group slowly before regarding Hagrid. James could already tell she was going to be trouble.

"Are these the students?"

_Obviously. Oh no, wait, we're just here for the party, you don't mind that Hagrid brought all of us, do you?_

"Yep. The firs' years are all yours, Professor."

"Good then. I am Professor McGonagall, and welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term feast will begin shortly, if you would follow me, please."

Her voice was just as commanding as her demeanor. She continued to follow his first impression of her deemed; a prank killer.

She led them up the stairs of the entry hall and into an adjoining room, where she addressed them again. "You will be joining your fellow students in the Great Hall shortly. There you will be sorted into one of the four Houses; Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin. Each house has produced fine witches and wizards, and will be akin to family throughout your education here at Hogwarts. Every year, points are made throughout both terms, and at the end of each year, the House with the most points wins the House Cup. Achievements in your studies will reward you with points, whereas any _troublemaking_-" she glared straight at James, who didn't so much as flinch,"-will be met with a loss of points. I will return when it is time for the ceremonies to begin. I suggest you smarten up, you will be in view of the entire school."

"Bloody hell, mate," Ron exclaimed once she had closed the door. "You'd think she has it out for you!"

"And for good reason," Hermione sniped from the other side of the room.

"Bring it on," James replied to both brazenly. "It's about time we get to challenge our skills, right guys?"

"Oh, yeah," Brian drawled, looking excited.

"Sure," Travis muttered, unsure. "She looks kinda dangerous, though."

"That'll be the fun in it. We won't just get away with it like at home."

"You get away with trouble at home?!" Ron queried incredulously.

"Well, the pranks, anyway. Dad thinks they're a laugh, and Mom just sighs and says, '_Egos_.'"

"Wow, whenever Fred and George do something, they get put in a ringer, they do."

"Can't imagine…"

"Uh, am I the only one scared witless about the Sorting?" Harry piped in. "Seriously?"

"Oh my God, I'm scared too!" A black kid answered. "Dean Thomas. I'm a muggleborn, see, so I have no idea what is going to happen."

"Fred and George said they had to battle a troll," Ron cast in. "I doubt it, though…"

"I heard you had swim across the Black Lake," a blond girl with pale blue eyes said wearily. Terry gave out an involuntary whimper.

"Am I the only one who has read _Hogwarts: A History_?" James and Hermione screeched. Looking at each other, they both scoffed and turned from each other.

"You just put on a really old hat and it tells you what house you're in."

"Oh."

"Well, _that_ makes sense."

"A ruddy hat?"

"What if it has lice?"

"Or mudblood hair! I don't want to share any hats that some mudblood has tainted! I'd rather battle that troll!"

"So, it's true then," a drawling voice caught James's attention as its owner made his way through the crowd, flanked by a pair of beefy looking brutes. "The Potter's are actually attending Hogwarts this year. I'm Draco Malfoy."

James shook hands with the pointy faced, platinum-haired kid. His pale skin gleamed in the lamplight, and his gray eyes seemed a little too sinister.

"This is Crabbe and Goyle," he mentioned as he shook hands with Harry. Harry himself looked uncomfortable with Draco.

"These are our best friends, Brian Gates and Travis Barker. And that's-"

"A Weasley. Doesn't take a squib to tell who _he _is. Red hair, ugly freckles, and to many children they can afford. Typical Weasley, my father says."

"Oh?" James asked, looking slightly put off. Who did this guy think he was?

"You see, there are some families we higher-up people just don't mingle with," Draco explained imperiously, looking at Travis, Brian, and Ron. "It could… _ruin_ some people. I can help you with preventing that."

Before James could tell Malfoy where to go, Harry did it for him: "I think we can figure out who we befriend on our own."

Draco looked shocked at the sudden hostility before sneering. "Fine, but don't blame me or come running when you are lying in a muggle's gutter."

"Yeah, nice to- what the-?!" James screamed as over twenty wispy, silvery men and women _faded_ into the room. They were arguing about some poltergeist, when one of them noticed the first years.

"Well, what have we here? New students? I'm pleased to meet you all," the kind, medieval-dressed man started kindly.

"Uh… back at you?"

"Oh, leave the children alone, Cecil, you're _frightening_ them," another ghost of a tall and limber woman scolded.

"Well, they'll have to get used to us sooner or later, won't they! We might as well start off graciously rather than abominably!"

"You'll scare them regardless, dear."

"Damnable woman, that Sybil," the Ghost named Cecil muttered angrily as he floated through the wall to the Great Hall. "You'd think that after death I'd earn a reprieve from her marriage, but _no_, it's as if we never died at that wretched hotel-"

"Don't mind some of our resident spirits, young one," an ethereal voice spoke to James. Looking up, he saw a beautiful woman smirking sadly at him. "Most of us did not die under favorable circumstances."

"I'm sorry to hear that," James replied sincerely.

"Oh," she chuckled embarrassingly, running her hands down her eloquent dress, revealing a stab wound in her abdomen. "It's refreshing to have an actual living being show pity. Most of thine house's students are either cold to me, or simply avoid contact. Compassion is a rarity tis' day it seems, and I'm gleeful that you have it. Well, good luck with your sorting, kind boy, I wish thee well."

"Creepy," Travis stated.

"It… wasn't as weird as I thought it'd be. You know, when Mom told me about them."

"She must have been the Grey Lady," Granger spoke up. "The House Ghost for Ravenclaw."

James said nothing back, half because it didn't require a response, half because Professor McGonagall had returned, carrying a hat in one arm and a stool in another. "It is time."

* * *

Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his spot in line. James put a hand on his shoulder.

"Quit squirreling around, will ya?" he muttered as Harry tried in vain to tame his hereditary wild hair."It's not gonna go down, so just leave it. Besides, it makes you look wild; the ladies all love a bad boy."

"I'm not here to impress some gross girl," Harry seethed back in a whisper, barely audible over the now-singing Sorting Hat. He looked up at the ceiling, which seemed to never end and was bewitched to mirror the weather outside. Thousands of candles glittered in the air above the tables, being suspended magically.

"Is it just me, or is it a little creepy that that thing is singing, much less able to carry his tunes in a bucket?"

"It isn't just you, I think."

The hat ended his song, and all the other students applauded. Not to be left out, they joined in the clapping. "Still scared?"

Oh, was Harry ever. What if that thing couldn't figure out what House to put him in? He wasn't feeling ambitious, like a Slytherin, nor brave like a Gryffindor. What if it just sat there, on his head, until McGonagall ripped it off his head and threw his sorry hide back on the train?

"Relax, worrying ain't gonna help. You'll get into anything else but Slytherin, trust me."

"How do you know?" Harry asked incredulously, as McGonagall started the Sorting."Abbott, Hannah!"

"Because you ain't no freak, that's why. You're my brother, I know these things."

"If you say so…"

"Hufflepuff!"

"Barker, Travis!"

"You're worrying about nothing', bro. You are gonna be a Gryffindor, I guarantee it."

"Ravenclaw!"

"Bones, Susan!"

"You can't guarantee I'll get into Dad's old house!"

"Hufflepuff!"

"Boot, Terry!"

"Woo! Go, Terry! Yes I can, you're a lot more noble and chivalrous than you think."

"Ravenclaw!"

"Brocklehurst, Mandy!"

"I hope you're right…"

"I always am. Just you see."

* * *

Kiara shuffled towards the stool. Her name was just called and the moment of truth was upon her. What her father would do to her when she returned home would be determined in mere moments, and it scared her beyond anything she had ever known in her entire life.

McGonagall's impatient stare did nothing to qualm her fears. Sparing a look at James, who seemed to be the only person who cared, was talking animatedly to his twin, not paying attention to her. She wished she had his comforting smile, the very smile she didn't want aimed at her just an hour ago. Sitting down on the stool, she pulled the hat over her ears, and nearly jumped when it started talking to her.

"Ah, a Kennedy… I remember your father. Strong, commanding, and ambitious, Kieran. It was easy to put him in Slytherin. And your mother, yes, I remember that girl very well too. Soft, warm hearted, extremely intelligent and kind, an apt…"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Kiara was surprised she didn't faint again. Numbly, she made her way to her new House table. The cheering seemed hollow to her, and she was pulled into the arms of a dark-haired, handsome older student who plopped her down next to him and congratulated her. She replied her thanks out of courtesy alone; she was too petrified to be sincere.

* * *

"Potter, Harry!"

"Looks like your tickets up, Harry," James whispered as he patted him on the back. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Harry replied appreciatively. James's pep talk had started to do wonders for him, and he wasn't as frightened as he was before. Taking a seat on the stool, he pulled the hat on and was oblivious to the increase chatter filling the Hall.

"Ah, a Potter! The famous Harry Potter, too, I must say, it is a privilege to meet you."

_It can talk?_ Harry thought wildly.

"Yes, I can talk! How do you think I sing? But alas, to business. Difficult… yes very difficult. Plenty of courage, yes, but also a thirst to prove that bravery."

_Not Slytherin, please not Slytherin…_

"You don't want to be placed in Slytherin? Whatever, for? You are powerful and Slytherin can teach you to use that power. You could become a formidable wizard, and make friends in the right places to help you even better use that power. No? Well then, you better be a...

"Gryffindor!"

* * *

_You were right_! Harry mouthed to James as he walked towards his table. The Weasley twins had stood up and chanted, "We got Potter!" as the rest of the House clapped and cheered.

_Told you so_, James mouthed back as he strode towards the stool before McGonagall even called his name. So enamored was he in getting Harry's spirits up, he missed Brian and Travis's Sorting. Looking around, he didn't find them, so he stopped searching when he approached the stool and the hat.

"Potter, Ja- oh, you're already here. Well, take a seat then."

James did so, and put the hat on top of his head a little crooked. Deciding he didn't like it that way, he shifted it to the other side. With a grunt of disapproval, he merely shifted it flush, and pulled it back so that its rear saddled on his neck, and out of his eyes.

"Ah, another Potter. A twin? Very rare, even for the Potters… they are renowned for having only one child. It is a pleasure to meet one of your stature as well," the small voice toned in his ear.

"Hey, nice to meet you to, man," James replied back out loud, earning a surprised look from McGonagall and the rest of the Hall. James rightfully ignored them.

"Aha, a sense of humor. And… hm… intelligence, keen wit, cleverness to spare, and… oh my. You are very mature, an odd trait for one so young. But you have bravery, and you are loyal, and… well, you don't have a lot of ambition, do you? Laid back, as you would say… yes, difficult, difficult…"

"You could just proclaim me the next Headmaster and be done with it, make it easy for both of us."

"Oh ho! Perhaps you have some ambition after all! No one man or woman becomes the Headmaster of Hogwarts so easily! But I think you will do well with your friends in…

"Ravenclaw!"

Shocked, James took the hat off his head and spared a look to McGonagall. She looked down at him, her face mirroring his. It was obvious that she didn't expect him to be sorted into the bookish, rule-friendly house of Eagles.

Finding his bearings quickly, he stood up and strode to his new table. They were cheering just as loud as the Gryffindors did when Harry got sorted into their House, only theirs was a little more… jubilant. Nobody expected him, of all people, to be in Ravenclaw. An Asian-looking girl was jumping up and down, clapping and screaming while a seventh year ran up to him and folded him into a hug, picking him and twirling him around as she squealed, "We got the other Potter! We got the other Potter!" Brian and Travis ran up to him and nearly tackled him as they dragged him over to their spots.

"I can't believe it!" Brian exclaimed, an excited look that looked almost out of place on his normally hollow face. "We're all in the same House!"

"I know!" Travis jubilantly screamed back. "This is going to be so awesome!"

"I didn't know you guys got sorted into Ravenclaw," James breathed in admiration.

"You were too busy giving Harry 'The Talk,' you idiot! You missed us!"

By that time Dumbledore had to stand and scream, "Quiet!" because both the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were making so much noise, the Sorting couldn't continue. All along the tables, people were gossiping loudly, making speculations, or just plain celebrating.

"I don't understand why they are making such a big fuss over something so…"

"Trivial?" Brian completed questioningly.

"Yeah. I mean, it's-"

"Rivers! RIVERS!" McGonagall screamed over the din the students were making.

"_SILENCE_!" Dumbledore blared, holding his wand to his throat and projecting his voice. "Silence!"

"Rivers, Matthew!"

The rest of the Sorting was quiet; whenever a student was sorted, their new house would applaud politely, but it would die down fairly quick. However, when it ended with "Zabini, Blaise!" being sorted into Slytherin, the talks restarted.

"Hey, Potter!" an older boy with a handsome face and straight brown hair held up his hand. "Name's Roger Davies. It's nice to have you in Ravenclaw!"

James shook the hand with a nod. "Thanks, man."

"So is it true? That you are as good as your Dad at Quidditch?"

"What? I never even played it before."

The look of disappointment on Roger's face was apparent. "Oh. Well, congratulations!"

"Yeah," James muttered, not entirely sure as to what just happened.

Dumbledore had stood at that moment and began to talk. James didn't pay attention as he poked Brian. "Do you think he was trying to, you know, _recruit_ me?"

"Recruit you? Well, I dunno, man," Brian whispered back, applauding Dumbledore's short speech. Picking up a pork chop as if it _hadn't_ just appeared right in front of him, he continued . "I heard that Roger Davies is supposed to be the next Ravenclaw quidditch captain, he's so good. Wasn't Dad a chaser?"

"Yeah, good one, too, so he and everyone else says. But if Davies is so great, why would he try to get me to try out? I can't even play this year, so…"

"Don't worry 'bout it bro. You're probably reading a little too deeply into this. Oh my God, have you _tried_ this mutton?"

* * *

"What about you? Do you play quidditch?"

Kiara looked up from her plate of small, picky foods she had decided she would choke down. "Quidditch? I never was allowed to even play it."

The older student shook his head. "Have to teach them all," he muttered.

* * *

"Oh, man, that was good," Brian drawled as he shoveled the last of his dessert into his mouth and leaned back, holding his stomach. James was chugging his goblet of water from eating a "spice cake" that was a little _too_ spicy, and Travis was wiping his mouth neatly with a cloth napkin. Dumbledore stood again and started in on his full address, too which James ignored again.

"I wonder what Mom and Dad will say when they find out what House we got into."

"Mom will probably be ecstatic; she wanted us to get into Ravenclaw. Dad will bust a vein though."

Brian nodded. "I agree. He thinks the only worthy House is Gryffindor House."

James smirked and replied, "Well, we'll just to prove dear old Father otherwise, now won't we?"

"Oh no…" Travis groaned. "So soon after dinner?"

"Whatcha got in mind, bro?"

"Just wait. You two just wait."

"First year Ravenclaws, on us, please!" A tall, thin fifth year commanded. He looked like he was Arabic.

"First year Ravenclaws! We're going to the common room!" another girl shouted.

"Oh crap, guys."

"What?" Travis asked.

"It's her," James answered pointing to the female prefect. The girl who had started calling out the first years was the girl they had tried to prank that morning.

"Dude," Brian moaned. "If she sees us, we're dead."

"Stay calm. If we shake this group off and get caught, we're just as dead. It's fifty-fifty, let's just try to take the easy route."

"Hey, there's that Roger kid!" Brian pointed out. He and another older guy were walking in the direction of the staircase, talking together conspiratorially. "Maybe he'll, you know… let us 'tag along,' to where they're going!"

"It's worth a shot," James consented, after a moment's thought. Roger had seemed alright. "We'll break when the prefects are outta sight. Let everyone pass, we don't any would-be snitches."

Slowing the pace, all of their new classmates passed them with annoyed looks and a couple of "Watch it's" that earned them a shove or three. As soon as they were in the back, the prefects turned and addressed the first years. "I'm Samhain al-Fulani, and this is Penelope Clearwater. We're prefects, and this," he waved grandiosely, "Is the Grand Staircase. Beware, the stairs have a habit of changing…" and as soon as he and Clearwater turned their backs and started up the stairs, the three broke for it.

Sprinting in the direction that Roger and the other kid traveled off to, they began looking madly. "Whoa, Gryffindors!" James whispered, spinning to a stop suddenly. "Hide!"

Huddling behind a standing suit of armor, the three stayed quiet as Percy the Prefect lectured the Gryffindor first years about the school and the stairs and-

"James?!" Harry whispered, catching sight of his brothers tucked behind the steel plates. What are you doing behind there?"

"Go away! We're getting into trouble!"

"Oh," Harry muttered as Ron pulled him away.

"C'mon mate, we're just gonna get them caught. They'll hate us."

James was grateful Ron had more experience with pranksters. Him pulling Harry away kept Percy from investigating; he was already looking at the two curiously. As soon as the group was out of sight, they scrambled out from behind the armor, almost knocking it over.

"Guys! Watch it!"

"Sorry…"

"Come on!"

Flying down the corridor, they came to a new hall, which opened up into a large and beautiful courtyard. Large bushes and shrubberies, lined with flowers and small trees, gave it a romantic atmosphere that was enhanced by the small fairy-lights hidden in the branches. A bunch of older students, all of them snogging, flirting, or talking quietly filled the yard's walls and benches. When the three ran into it, all of them stopped and stared at the intrusion.

"What are you first years doing here?" A Slytherin seventh year sneered, a pretty Hufflepuff girl pinned beneath him against a wall, giggling.

"Roger Davies, seen him?"

"Oh. He and Desmond Worthwright went that way," the tanned, blond guy answered, pointing down the hall. "Talking about quidditch, the bloody queers…"

"Thanks man," Travis nodded.

"Yeah, and go you for diversity! House Unity and all that-"

"Shut up Brian," James ordered as he grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off to where the Slytherin said Davies went off to. Running through the courtyard at all haste, they soon came upon a dark corner where the two boys were huddled, talking quietly.

* * *

"… I swear, Roger, we need something to change this whole quidditch picture," Desmond Worthwright whispered desperately. With his back against the wall at the far end of the Snogger's Courtyard, his conversation with Roger about the years' upcoming Quidditch Season, its teams, and future players could remain rightfully private. "Slytherin has been at the top for decades, and with Wood being named Gryffindor captain, we are going to still be deadlocked for second place at best against those obnoxious lions; you know he'll put together the best possible team and make them the best he can. And now they are saying that Cedric Diggory is going out for Seeker in Hufflepuff and that he's really good…"

"Don't worry, Dez. We got a couple of trump cards," Roger assured confidently.

"And what's that?"

"Potter."

"Potter?"

"Potter," Davies affirmed. "His dad was a Chaser for Gryffindor, and his mum was a Seeker her last two years. That's a lot of blood in quidditch. I think that if we get started on training him early, we can make him into the best Chaser Ravenclaw has ever seen. Or beyond."

"But he's a first year, that won't get to play in an actual game. He isn't even allowed his own broom."

"No, there is no rule banning first years from playing. And yeah, but he will get to have his own next year. And that means that if we start training him now, we will have a semi-seasoned, ready and able replacement for you next year, who will know exactly what to expect."

"That's not exactly what _I_ was expecting," Desmond whined, looking at Roger with an annoyed expression. "We need a quick solution."

Roger shook his head. "What we need is both a solution for now and later. That's where I come in with my second suggestion."

"Which is?" Desmond allowed, the sandy haired boy's curiosity piqued again.

"Cho Chang."

"The second year girl, the Scot? What has she got anything to do with anything? You're starting to sound less like a Lieutenant Captain and more like a bloody dreamer."

"She would make a damn fine Seeker."

"Atris is a damn fine Seeker."

"And ever since Flint hit her upside the head and gave her that horrible concussion last year, she hasn't been up to game. She's gotten soft, and you know it."

"Atris is just fine, and it's her last year; she deserves to play her final year, after all that she has given us."

"She won't be good! And when she proves it, you'll be begging for Cho. Give her a chance, let her tryout. I have been teaching her all the ins and outs of Quidditch last year and all during the summer. Her father welcomed it, even _thanked_ me for it, and I have been scouting her with the harshest of critical eyes, Dez. She's a perfect Seeker. She has the instincts, and the grit. She always beat me to the Snitch. I hit her with the best Beater shot I could manage and she shrugged it off, despite the fact that it broke her nose. She is tough and hardy and-"

"Okay, okay, okay!" Desmond screamed, holding his hands up in defeat. "I get it! Make sure she comes to tryouts, and make sure she has her own broom. If I have to pick one more player who can't afford themselves a new broom, much less their own, I'm going to-"

"I will. Her dad bought one as soon as I assured him that she was good enough to make the team. Which, by the way, she is."

"Alright, I get the bloody picture, Roger. And with this whole Potter thing-"

"I will gladly start training him. He will be good enough, I know it."

"Fine, but do it on your own time. I will not accommodate you for it on real quidditch days."

"Fine. Excellent! I will make sure you don't regret this. I swear. You won't."

"Alright. Just get it done, Roger," Desmond leaned forward and regarded Roger critically. "Because if I do go with Chang- which I am not saying I will, far from it- and she screws up this season, you will pay for it. This is my last year at Hogwarts, and I never won the Quidditch Cup. I am going to change that this year. That's why you are my un-official second in command; you have an eye for talent. But I swear, Roger, if I don't get my championship-"

"You will, Dez, I swear. You can trust me."

"I better be able to," Desmond warned, looking a little desperate. "It's my last year."

"I know, mate," Roger soothed, wrapping his arm around his older friend's shoulder. "I'll make sure we win it all."

"Uh, Roger?" a small voice interrupted the "moment" the two friends were having. Breaking apart, the two both snapped "What?" before even realizing who was talking to them.

"Hey man, it's uh, James, you know, Potter? And my friends, Brian and Travis."

"Oh, hey mates. What can I do for you? Wait, what are doing away from the other first years?"

"Nothing, nothing…" Travis stuttered quickly.

"Clearwater is still gassed about that prank from this morning, I take it?" Desmond asked with a laugh.

The look of relief that overcame their faces was obvious. "How did you…?"

"Rumor had it that the Potter and Weasley twins both had a prank go wrong this morning at the station. I was merely inferring, seeing as Penelope was cursing about it at the Prefect's meeting."

"Oh," the three muttered.

"It was us three, not me and Harry," James explained with pride, but then fish-eyed when he realized he had admitted it to a prefect. "You're a prefect?" James asked carefully.

"Prefect? Hell. I'm Head Boy!" he proclaimed. At the looks on their faces, he laughed. "Don't worry, my friends. I have no power over it. And even if I did, I wouldn't punish you for it. In fact, I'm glad to see someone is actually trying to wipe that officious look of arrogance off her face."

They laughed, as did Roger. Rubbing his hands together, Roger looked at Potter. "I think it's time to get up to the common room. Desmond being Head Boy, he can ensure us not getting into trouble as long as he escorts us?"

"I'd be honored to escort the great James Potter to his quarters," Desmond said in a pseudo-official voice.

James smirked arrogantly. "As if I need one."

* * *

Dumbledore keenly reminisced about the sorting, as he always did, remembering every student and the House they were put into. Quietly, he forecasted whether or not they belonged in the house they were sorted into, or what category of student they should have been. He had three main categories; star, bland, and troublemaker. Percy Weasley, for example, was a star student. High marks, well-liked by teachers and staff, and a prefect this year. His twin brothers, on the other hand, were troublemakers; personally his favorite. They kept things interesting in a boring, black and white world. And then you had the bland. Cue your Katie Long's, Marcus Flint's, and Cedric Diggory's who might be popular, might try to get into mischief, but not at all "standouts" on either front. Space fillers, people who aspired to be stars or troublemakers, who wished and dreamed but never quite making the cut…

As he had watched his new students get sorted, he merely guessed by first impression what kind of personality each student would have. A certain muggle-born named Hermione Granger was sorted into Gryffindor, which surprised him; Minerva had stated that she was an intelligent type, more suited for Ravenclaw. She was going to be a star. Regardless of her talents, she'd make a fine addition to Gryffindor, who's academic achiever's had been for the most part anemic for quite some time. As soon as "Longbottom, Neville!" was sorted into "Gryffindor!" he could tell immediately that the boy was neither three. He was by no means a star, too courteous to be a troublemaker, and just not capable of fitting in enough to be bland. The only way he be described was a diamond in the rough. Dumbledore chuckled, remembering that the poor boy, in his excitement, had run off towards his table with the Sorting hat still over his eyes. Draco Malfoy was made a Slytherin, to no real surprise. Thin and smart, he was going to be a king of Slytherin; that much Dumbledore knew without the Sorting Hat ever needing to be put on the lad's head. And sure as death and taxes, as soon as the brim fell over the boy's eyes, it hollered "Slytherin!" to the great cheers of the silver and emerald-clad table. He was going to be a star, but at what cost? Dumbledore pondered on the boy momentarily before moving on.

As more and more bland students buzzed through his mind, Dumbledore reflected on them not more and more lazily, but more and more curiously. The Nott's and Parkinson's and MacMillan's and Finnigan's were all an integral part of the school, regardless of how boring they may seem. Everyone had a story.

And when he came upon the name "Potter" in his mind, he took pause. It came as no surprise that young Harry would be a Gryffindor; every Potter after Armand Potter had been in the house of lions, and Harry was a typical Gryffindor, according to his mother. Kind, and noble, and very brave, he was tailored perfectly for the house, just as it was for him. Harry was going to be a savior. It was his destiny...

But what got Dumbledore was his twin, James Dean. The boy was a troublemaking, prank pulling, and well-humored metal head with a strong set of values, very similar to his father. It seemed that he too would be a Gryffindor, but alas the Sorting Hat proved that theory wrong. Dumbledore chewed what James being a Ravenclaw could bring for the future in his mind. James was an odd creature. According to his father, he was a crème de le crème troublemaker; according to his mother, he was a crème de le crème star, intelligent, mature and very clever. Dumbledore knew the last star troublemaker Hogwarts had, and regretted having the student ever since. Such a talent, just to fall so hard...

"I know what you are thinking, Headmaster," the ratty old hat sang from his stool in the corner of the office. "And I'll have you know that I have yet to be proven wrong."

"I know, old friend, I know. But you had yet to make a Sorting as important as this one, tonight."

"This Sorting was as important as any other; no more, no less. They are all important, and no one or two truly stand above all the rest. Students come, students go and none are more important than any other. The wizards and witches they become may be to the rest of the world after they leave, but Hogwarts cares not for what they are after they leave her bosom, as long as they get there with the best possible arsenal to ensure that they _can_ make it there."

"Well put, old friend. Your wisdom humbles this old man."

"You are not old, Albus, until you have lived as long as this old hat has sat."

"Indeed. Indeed…"

* * *

"Yes, well, here we are," Desmond said lightly, referring to the door that led to the Ravenclaw Common Room. "I must leave to my private quarters. Have a good night, you four."

With a smile the square-jawed seventh year turned and strode back down the corridor, whistling to himself. He had led them through halls and corridors and up countless stairs that James had struggled to memorize. After bookmarking several landmarks in his mind, he felt he could at least remember how to get back to the Great Hall. Argus Filch, the janitor or "caretaker" as he proudly called himself, nearly jeopardized his memorization when he popped out from around a corner screaming that he had "caught them." Accusing them of dropping dung bombs from the stairwell, Desmond ardently denied it before back talking Filch and making his stand as Head Boy. With a few veiled threats and other various methods of "persuasion," Filch turned on his heel, muttering about mud and stupid children.

James could tell that Filch was going to be a problem, too.

"Yes, well," Roger started, looking at the bronze and blue knocker with a trace of annoyance. The eagle head stared back as if it was alive and rather impassive. "I hate this door…"

"Why?" James asked hesitantly. Why was he just staring at it?

"Because if you want to get in, need to answer a riddle. All the other houses get passwords, but Rowena Ravenclaw just _had _to prove that Ravenclaws are _smarter_, the pompous… never mind. We need to gain entrance to the common room," he stated to the knocker as he tapped it twice.

"You will have to answer the riddle correctly," it answered firmly, but indifferently.

"Yes, yes, I know. Give me the riddle…"

"The man who built me wants nothing to do with me, the man who buys me has no need for me, and the man who needs me will never know it; what am I?"

Roger stared for a moment, and shook his head. "I have no idea…"

"A coffin," James answered after a few moments of thinking. Brian and Travis looked at him in admiration while Roger stared in shock.

"Correct," the eagle stated in its neutral tone. "Enter."

"What was that?"

"What? It's kinda obvious, isn't it?"

"Well, quite frankly, no."

"Oh. Well, can we just go in?"

"Of course."

Walking in, James noticed that the common room was rather large, as if it had been magically enhanced to be larger than it really was. It was wide and open, with two fireplaces at the north and south "ends of the circle, with two staircases spiraling from the left on the north, and to the right on the south. Large blue tapestries with bronze eagles and trim lined the walls, with many moving pictures and portraits in between. Plenty of tables and end tables accommodated the soft and plush looking furniture. A large, crystalline chandelier was suspended from the ceiling with looping spirals and fluted glass cylinders sparkling in the glow of a pyramid of stair-stepping candles.

Before James could walk into the room any further, Samhain the fifth year prefect stepped in front of them with an imperious stance. "And where did you three first years run off to? You think that because you are famous, Potter-"

"These mates were with me, Sam," Roger spoke up defensively. "I asked them off to the side, to talk. Had a little favor to ask James, and he agreed. There was no… _trouble_ like there was with the Weasley's this morning, I assure you."

Samhain sneered. "You had no right to break the rules, Davies."

"He didn't break the rules," Travis argued.

"Oh? And how would you know?"

"Because I read the rulebook, and there was no passage that said first years are required to follow prefects after any feast."

Samhain's dark face flushed. "It shouldn't- there's no-"

"Gotta admit, Sam, he's pretty good."

"Well answer me this; what were you '_asking'_ of him?"

"I'm not at liberty to say. Confidential, but you can take it up with Desmond, I'm sure he'll vouch for us."

Samhain stuck his nose up. "I shall."

"Then you won't get anywhere, because Dez told me to keep quiet about it. Chaser's honor."

"Fine," the prefect growled, glaring at the four. "Well, Potter, the rest of our illustrious house wants a chance to meet you. I expect you will give them the _honor_."

* * *

"Remove this wretched cloth," the high, raspy voice commanded.

Quirrell did so. Staring himself in the mirror, he slowly began unwinding his turban, slowly but surely. With a stoic face, he faced himself as he unveiled his demon to his quarters, its vile caricature imprinted on the back of his now bald head. Ever since their "joining," Quirrell had felt more and more powerful by the day, but the Dark practice was leaving its mark on his body. Veins were showing through his skin as it lost its color and suppleness. The thinning skin, the loss of his body hair, and the beginning of sensory degradation were a by-product, the Dark Lord told him. When he attempted to do research on it, to try to understand it, to stop it, his doppelganger ordered him not to. To stop it would be to prevent getting the power, his Master explained.

"That… is better, Quirrell."

"Thank you, Master."

"Whatever are you thanking me for, boy?"

"This power. This opportunity. This gift."

Voldemort smiled. As long as the fool believed that this "power" was _his_, he would continue to feed and sustain Voldemort's dark spirit. And as long as Quirrell was under his control, his "_guidance_," than the good Professor would be the nexus for his return to his rightful place; immortality.

"There is no need for thanks," he whispered. _Your just rewards will be upon you when your body falls to dust._


	11. Chapter 11: The Life and Times at

And the next chapter of the Twins' Potter installments... short, but sweet. And if you don't laugh, then shame on me! I'm a horrible author!

_**Recommended List-En-Eeng**_

**Song**: Pretty Fly(For a White Guy)

**Artist**? The OFFSPRING!

**Album**:_Americana_

I like the Offspring. They pretty fly(for a bunch of white guys... haha, get it? ITS A JOKE. A pun? Not likely. A horrible joke? More like it.) But alas, it doesn't matter, anyway. Who actually pays attention to the whole "Recommened Listening" anyway? Well, if you do, how about you make a suggestion? Got a favorite song you want me to base a chapter on, like I do my favorite music? Tell me. I'll totally do it.

**Shout ****outs**- To the darling forevermagic, meh editor(remember, beta implies second rate!) Silver Sailor Ganymede, who upon drinking the blood of the darkspawn I sent her out to kill(as well as eating the damnable cookies we evil folk love so much) has given herself to the Dark Side. Me and Clare Stovold welcome you, openly. I'm sure forevermagic does, as well, I just can't speak for her. To all the lazy folk who added this to their "favorites", alerts, or anything else, and most importantly YOU. Yes, I know who you are, and I'm thanking you. PERSONALLY! {(o)} ^ {(O)} See this? This my evil eye, the other one is made of glass, and both are thanking YOU.

Revised Disclaimer- I own nothing, the music included. Remember that well, padawans. ENJOI

* * *

"So, what classes we got?"

"Charms with the Gryffindors, Herbology with the Snakes, potions with Hufflepuff, defense against the dark arts with Hufflepuff, history of magic with Gryffindor, Transfiguration with Gryffindor, and Astronomy with Slytherin. Yay us?"

"Put your schedule down and hand me the butter, Bwine," James spoke over a piece of toast.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Brian shot back. "And say please."

"What's your problem?"

"Uh, we didn't go to bed until one in the morning? I don't run well on five hours sleep."

"Brian, you don't run well on _twelve_ hours of sleep."

"Shaddup, Trav."

"Besides, we got to know our roomies better," James pointed out, slurping a cup of orange juice extra loud as Hermione Granger walked by. Smiling at her look of disgust, he winked at her before continuing. "I kinda like that Goldstein guy."

"Who? The tall, orange haired kid?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, look- mail is here!"

Wabbajack flew down from the enchanted ceiling with a note from their? parents. Patting the owl on the beak he tore the letter open.

_James Dean, Harry, Brian and Travis:_

_Well, how are my newest Gryffindors? How are you fitting in with your new school mates? Your mother is worried sick already: "What if they forgot their wands?" or "Who's going to make sure they wear clean clothes? What about bullies? You know Jamie isn't that big…" Don't worry son, I know you can handle anything. You're mother isn't meaning to insult your pride, honest! Just send a letter back asap, so she'll be reassured that you're all just fine._

_Regards, J.I.P_

"Uh… how do we tell him that we are not in Gryffindor?" Brian asked, a little worried.

"Simple," James answered. Pulling out a pen (he hated quills, and would only use them in class) he began writing a response.

_Dear Esteemed Parents,_

_Ravenclaw house has so far been amazing! The bed sheets are made of satin, which is kinda girly, but I think I can get over that. Details, right? Apparently, our Head of House is really nice. Flitwick, is that his name?_

_Harry and Ron Weasley made it into Gryffindor, though. Harry was so worried about becoming a Snake that he begged the old hat to make him anything but a Slytherin. And the look on Ron's face when he was sorted, it was priceless. _

_Anyway, tell Mom that we are all just fine. We have everything, I swear; O. P.'s honor. We will all write by the end of the week, I promise. We need to head to class, so I guess this is all I get to write. Bye!_

"Here, Wabbajack. Take this to Dad. James Ignotus Potter."

The spectacled owl hooted his affirmative, grabbed a piece of bacon, and flew from the Great Hall.

"Wabbajack?" Travis asked incredulously. "I question your sanity more and more by the day."

"Guys, it's time to get to class," Brian interjected. "Let's walk with Ron and Harry; we do have charms with them."

Grabbing their bags, they walked over to the Gryffindor table, collected the two, and made their way out of the Hall. Small talk passed their time as they wound through the corridors and stairs. Things like Quidditch, classes, and pranks filled the air with jovial banter and slapstick jokes about other students. However, when a group of rowdy Slytherins blocked the path, things got cold rather quickly.

"What's a matter, Kennedy?" Draco Malfoy's drawling voice taunted a lone Ravenclaw girl, who was cornered between the gang of Slytherins and a wall. "Did you get sorted into the wrong house?"

"Please, just leave me alone!" A familiar voice met James' ears. It was the girl from the day previous, who had fainted. "I haven't done anything to you!"

"Don't be so crass," a fifth year girl cackled. "A pureblood like you belongs in Slytherin, but here you are in a house of geeks and bookworms!"

"Hey, leave her alone!" Travis barked, walking towards the gang with an unusual show of aggression. James, following his lead, strode right beside him. The other three looked at each other, and then cautiously did the same.

"Well, if it isn't the Airhead Potter and his nerdy brother," Malfoy jeered to the delight of his house mates. "Don't you have a library to study, Ravenclaw?"

"No, but I'm sure I can find a few books small enough to hide your pathetic ego in," James insulted back.

Malfoy's face flushed with anger and shame. Balling his hands into fists, he shook as he struggled to formulate a comeback. His fellows all laughed at him, and he nearly exploded. "Watch your tongue, Potter!"

"What's a matter, Malfoy?" Harry asked. "You mean to tell me that someone as cunning as you doesn't have a comeback for him?"

"I guess his bird beak face is too small to house the proper amount of brain cells to make him intelligent enough to think past petty, racist insults," Brian quipped, making the other Slytherins laugh even more.

"Gee, Drake," James tutted. "Your friends aren't giving you a lot of help here. Maybe they only respect intelligent people."

Draco was incensed by that point. His goons, Crabbe and Goyle, were cracking their knuckles threateningly, the only other Slytherins that weren't laughing. Travis and Brian stared them down, silently daring them to bring it on, while Ron and Harry looked cautiously over their shoulders, unsure what to do. James stood stoically, watching Malfoy like a hawk.

"I'd call your guard dogs off. Wouldn't want them to start something they'd regret."

"Why don't you-"

"Back off, Malfoy," One of the older Slytherins interrupted. "I'm a prefect, and I can't allow any fights to go on. Come on, let's get to class. This was getting boring anyway."

Like that, the gang dispersed, with the prefect half dragging Malfoy away. The girl, Emma, was crying and picking up all of her fallen books and strewn parchment and quills. Her ripped bag was cradled in her arms as she scooped up as much as she could into its torn body.

"Here, lemme help," James soothed as he knelt and began to pick up her books.

She ignored him as a soft sob racked her shoulders. Shakily and erratically picking up her supplies, she looked like she was lost in her own despair.

"Jimmy Dean, we gotta get to class," Travis started carefully.

"Just a second ago you were standing up for the girl, now you want to just leave her in the dust?" Brian asked quizzically. "What is wrong with you, dude?"

"Nothing, I just don't want to be late-"

"Then get to class! If you can't stand helping somebody out, then go. I can handle this."

Embarrassed, Travis walked away, Ron following him uncertainly.

"She is making him helping her quite the habit," Ron breathed not at all too quietly as they retreated down the hall.

"He should start taking tabs," Travis muttered.

"Don't mind them," Harry assured her.

"They really aren't that bad," James agreed. When she continued to ignore them he pressed a little harder, grabbing her shoulder and squeezing gently. "Kayemilyemma?"

She laughed slightly between sobs and fell into his chest. Nervously wrapping her in a hug, James looked up at Brian and Harry, who both shrugged.

Putting a hand on her back, he whispered, "I know Jimmy Dean makes a comfy pillow, but we do have to get to Charms."

She giggled again and nodded. Shyly pulling herself away, she kept her gaze down, obviously embarrassed. They helped her gather the last of her things, and hauled it to the Charms corridor. They were going to be late.

* * *

"… Charms is a very broad and deep scope of magic. Its spells can range from miraculous and heart-lightening to rather nasty- oh, you must be my four missing students! Which one of you is…? Gates?"

"Me, sir," Brian spoke up, holding up his hand. He quickly took a seat next to Travis at the front of the class, leaving James and Emma the last desk at the back.

Flitwick checked his name off, and then looked to James. His eyes twinkled in excitement, and he clapped his hands gleefully. He had to have been no younger than eighty, judging by how old he looked. Long, wild hair framed his head like a wispy white cloud and his pale blue eyes shone with a youthful exuberance. He couldn't have been taller than two and a half feet.

"Then you must be the Potters!" he exclaimed in a squeaky voice.

"Yes, sir. I'm Harry," Harry introduced, taking a chair by Ron.

"Ah, the Gryffindor," Flitwick confirmed, checking his name off.

"Yes sir, James Dean. I'm sorry we're late-"

"Oh, hogwash, m'boy, hogwash! I must say, it is an honor to have you in Ravenclaw! I can tell you two and Mr. Gates were helping Miss… uh…" Flitwick looked down at his list. "Kennedy! It would appear that she has ripped her school bag! Understandable, you three, understandable. It's good to see our Ravenclaw and other students looking out for each other. Five points to Ravenclaw, the of you. And five to Gryffindor, as well."

Travis kept his gaze straight ahead, looking more and more embarrassed by the minute as Ron's ears blazed a deep scarlet.

"Thank you, sir," thanked Flitwick appreciatively.

"Not a problem, Potter. Good deeds should never be punished, nor should they ever go unrewarded. Take a seat, will you please? Now, who can tell me the charm that would repair Miss Kennedy's school bag?"

Hermione Granger's hand shot up as James and Emma took their seats in the last desk. "Miss Granger?"

"Reparo, sir."

"Correct! Five points to Gryffindor! Now, does anybody know how to perform this certain spell? _Other_ than Miss Granger?"

James held up his hand hesitantly. "Ah, Mr. Potter! Yes?"

"Well, my Dad always uses it for his glasses… he kinda just circles his wrist a bit and-"

"That is exactly correct, Mr. Potter. Five points to Ravenclaw. Magic is a lot more complex than it seems. In order to make certain spells work, you must move your wand in a certain manner. For example," Flitwick pointed his wand at Emma's bag and clearly chanted "_Reparo_!" which immediately caused the torn bag's seams to form back together perfectly.

"Now," Flitwick lectured. "Pull out your parchment and prepare to take notes on the simplest wands motions."

* * *

Lily read the letter with a growing grin.

"Yes!" She screamed triumphantly, spinning the wheelchair into a wheelie and spiraling around behind her desk at St. Mungo's. "You owe me ten galleons! I told you James Dean was going to be a Ravenclaw!"

James looked at his wife in distaste. "Oh, you're _so_ mature, Doe."

"Look who's talking, _Prongs_."

* * *

Hogwarts proved to be nothing at all like what James and Harry's mother had told them it would be; it was ten times weirder. With countless staircases that ranged from opulent and grand to so narrow and rickety one would be hard pressed not to fear for their life. It was difficult enough not to get lost between classes, but when ghosts popped out of nowhere like the forever arguing Sybil and Cecil, it was rather easy to get distracted. With it so easy to become lost, James often had to ask his professors for directions to his next class. Some were helpful, and downright happy to do so. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher and Head of Ravenclaw house, was so thrilled to have a Potter in his House that he offered to even assign an older student to give him, Brian and Travis an in-depth tour. Others, like Professor Snape, sneered and "reminded" him that he wasn't a tour guide, and even deducted house points for asking.

Fred and George Weasley were lifesavers. In between classes and even afterhours, they would show James and Harry around the castle, and noted secret passages that could substitute as shortcuts. Pretty soon, Harry, James, Travis and Brian were making it to classes in record time, were able to fly around the school afterhours without getting caught, and were able to pull off a few minor pranks, all with "Gred and Forge" and their best friend Lee. Harry and Ron stayed away from the pranking for the most part, as their first night they came within three feet and a door away from getting caught by Filch. Chickening out, they refused to rejoin the "late-night festivities."

When Travis asked Fred how he and George had gotten such a vast knowledge about Hogwarts, especially since they were only third years, he was rather short on it. "A map," he answered curtly, grinning like a maniacal magician keeping his worst secret. He and Fred hushed them upon further questions, saying that it was a well guarded secret, and one that they could not indulge upon them, at least not yet.

"'_Yet'_ being the operative word, mate," George hinted with a wink. "We still require the item's… _services_, but when we decide that it is not necessary to be of use to us, you will get to know more than just what it is. Trust me."

* * *

"Hey, flying lessons tomorrow," Brian announced one morning. It had been a few weeks since the start of term, and things had been going so fast that James could have sworn he had been sorted the day before.

"Huh?" he muttered tiredly from his newly minted favorite spot; a couch and table facing the wall of the common room. Far from the rest of the house, and out of the prying eyes of prefects, it was the perfect place to get a bit of peace to finish homework and plan independent "midnight trips."

"Flying lessons tomorrow with the 'Puffs. It's at one, right after lunch, so we don't have Potions!"

"Sweet," Travis sighed, looking relieved. James felt relief, too. Snape was not exactly a great teacher.

"I still can't believe his first class," Brian laughed as he plopped down on the couch next to a quiet Emma. "That jerk got what he had coming to him."

* * *

"_You are here to learn the subtle- and possibly deadly- art and science of potion-making," The tall, greasy haired, hook-nosed man dressed in black whispered loudly. He was very intimidating, with his curtain of black hair and cold dark eyes, as well as being bedecked in flowing black robes that made him look a bit like Darth Vader._

"_Potter!"_

"_Huh?"_

"Potter_!"_

"_Uh, yeah-I mean, sir?"_

"_What do you get when you add powdered root of asphodel with an infusion of wormwood?"_

"_Uh…"_

"_That's what I thought. Clearly yours and your brother's "fame" is not at all that it's cracked up to be."_

_The class stirred quietly, shocked at Snape's insult. James, however, was largely unaffected. "Uh…"_

"_Is 'uh' the only word in your vocabulary, Potter?"_

"_Uh… I mean-not really. And asphodel and wormwood mixed together are ingredients to the potion called the Draught of Living Death, a sleeping potion so powerful that it mimics the user's death. Alladron the Convict used it to avoid capture by staging his own fake death during the Viking raids on England in the Eighth Century."_

_Snape's passive face quirked an eyebrow slightly. "Well, it would appear that you may have some intelligence to you. What is the difference between wolfsbane and monkshood?"_

"_None. They are the same exact plant."_

_Snape had the faint aura of beginning to look half impressed, half angry. "Where does one find a bezoar?"_

"_A bezoar is a stone found in the stomach of goat that would save a human's life from most poisons."_

_Snape finally dropped his wall of anger and looked at James with interest. "Well, it would appear that at you, unlike your brother, can actually take time to read a book."_

"_Actually, I didn't read the book at all until this morning, sir."_

_The look of shock wrote itself all over Snape's pale face. "And how did you come across this knowledge, then? Fancy yourself as a Legilimens?"_

"_No, it is written in the front of the book. Yay for introductions?"_

* * *

Brian and Travis laughed heartily at the reminiscing. Emma even giggled a little. "The look on his face was classic," Brian said over his laughing. Pulling an exaggerated impersonation of Snape's face, Brian raised his voice to match Snape's and screamed, "Potter! Expand your vocabulary!"

"I think 'uh' is the only word I really need."

* * *

So? What ch'y'all thunk? Is dis extremely short chapter... passable?


	12. Chapter 12: Halloween

I write this chapter with sad soul and heavy heart. A truly genius musician, and a personal hero of mine has passed away far too long before his time. One of the best drummers in metal music, and a devoted musician, Jimmy, "The Rev" Owen Sullivan has passed on not just a week ago, leaving Avenged Sevenfold without their heartbeat and the entire A7X family without a beloved member. For what little it is worth, I commemorate this chapter to The Reverend Tholomew Plague, and express my condolences to all his family and friends. Sleep easy, oh sweet prince. Sleep easy.

**_Recommended Listening_**: Sieze The Day

**_Artist_**: Avenged Sevenfold

**_Album_**: City of Evil

Reason? Figure it out yourself, I'm too drunk on my sorrows to tell you sods what it means...

* * *

The day of flight lessons were rather odd. The Slytherins and Gryffindors went first, in the morning. Apparently, rumor had it that Harry had made a fool out of Malfoy for picking on Neville Longbottom, who had fallen off his broom and broken his wrist, ending up with him in the Medical Wing. Flying as if he was born with wings, he had dived fifty feet, past McGonagall's window and caught a thrown Remembrall before it shattered on the Entry Hall's front steps. According to the gossip, instead of expelling him for flying without an instructor present, McGonagall rewarded him by appointing him Seeker of the Gryffindor team. Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Captain, had tried to keep it hush-hush, but all of the Gryffindor first years were whispering about it and word around Hogwarts traveled fast. Malfoy himself had complained that Harry shouldn't have been allowed to play, seeing as he couldn't even own a broom yet, but oddly Dumbledore consented to it. Harry and Ron pulled James and Travis aside at lunch and told them about it outside of the Great Hall. Harry was nervous, while Ron was ecstatic.

"Youngest Seeker in a century!" He continuously exclaimed, never losing his admiring tone.

"Wasn't Mum a Chaser?" Travis asked in between Ron's excited outbursts.

"Yeah, Dad was a Chaser since his second year, she was Seeker from her fifth year on up. They won the Cup for Gryffindor twice, so I heard."

"Wicked!" Ron cried in veneration. "My brother Charlie never won the House Cup, and everyone said he was the best Seeker Gryffindor had had in years!"

"Well, apparently Mum was better," Harry boasted with a sarcastic grin, making Travis and James swat at him.

"We're the ones with the sense of humor!" they chorused, causing all four to laugh as they stumbled into the Great Hall. James and Travis followed Ron and Harry to the Gryffindor table and took a seat beside Fred and George despite the odd look Percy gave them.

"Where's Brian?"

"Oh, he's talking to Flitwick-"

"Professor Flitwick," Hermione Granger interrupted, taking a seat next to Percy, who nodded in agreement.

"It's polite, Potter."

"Who cares about being polite, Perfect Prefect Percy?" the twins joked.

"Granger, do you walk out of walls or something, _waiting_ to cut people off?" Travis muttered indignantly before continuing. "He's with Flitwick, looking to join up in the school music club. Apparently he runs it."

"Ah," George said with an air of revelation. "A musician, is he?"

"Yeah, you could say he lives for it," James explained casually. Then he leaned in conspiratorially. "Anyway, I wanted to talk to you two. You remember that prank I wanted to plan at the start of term, Travis? That big one?"

"Yeah…?"

"I got the perfect one."

"What's that?"

"Hey, look at this!" Harry burst out, holding up a several-week-old Prophet. "Remember that old vault that Hagrid took some grimy package out of back at Gringotts?"

"Yeah," James said, leaning over with Travis, Ron, and the twins to look at the article.

"Somebody broke into it."

"So?"

"_Nobody_ breaks into Gringotts," Fred gawked. "Nobody."

"And it was the very night that we were there, too."

"Again, so? It has nothing to do with us, so why bother caring? We aren't exactly 'in the loop' with Hagrid's business."

Harry looked at James and Travis with a look of annoyance, while Ron and the twins seemed remotely interested. "It has to be important. It _has_ to."

* * *

The flying lessons for the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had been almost as entertaining as Slytherin and Gryffindor's. Most of the students, including Brian, had failed miserably at getting the hang of broom mechanics; Hannah Abbott got smacked in the face because she was standing on the tail twigs when she called her broom up, Terry Boot fell off of his because he wasn't ready for it to take off, and Brian's simply wouldn't cooperate with him. It wouldn't fly up into his hand, so when the energetic and hawkish Madam Hooch had her back turned, he simply bent over and picked the broom up; a practice others followed fairly quickly. Whenever he got on his broom, however, it would spin out of control or even completely throw him off, which caused much laughter to erupt from the others, but especially James and Travis. Whenever he got tired of hearing their teasing, he would burst, "Thanks for the help, prats!"

"What are friends for?" James and Travis replied, laughing again.

"Yeah, and since when did you start talking like a Brit?"

"I think it's because he thinks he doesn't fit in with us anymore, Jimmy Dean."

"_Au contraire_, dear Travis, if he continues to make us laugh, he will always have a place with us. And again, don't call me Jim, please. Makes me sound old, remember?"

"Shut up!"

By the time the lessons ended, James and Travis, as well as Zacharias Smith and a surprisingly adept Emma Kennedy were flying circles around the Astronomy Tower, while Brian was nursing multiple bruises and cuts, kicking his Shooting Star with indignation. Madam Hooch dismissed them, told them when their next class would be, and shot off toward the quidditch pitch on her broom. The rest of the class disappeared into the Great Hall as the three stayed out on the lawn next to Hagrid's hut, tossing a football around.

"You know, guys, we need to find a new name for football," James said randomly as he tossed pigskin up to Brian, sending it high in the air and well over thirty yards, right into his running hands.

"Why's that?" Travis asked as he snatched the ball from Brian, who was jogging back from the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Hey!"

"Because we're in Britain. Or, er, _Scotland_, but they're practically the same anyway-"

"Don't let anybody else hear you say that," Brian quipped as he tried to steal back the egg-shaped ball.

"And in Britain, 'football' is soccer. If we call this thing a football, the magical people who have actually heard of football are going to look at us like we're insane. So I say we start calling it… hand-egg."

"Hand-egg?" Brian laughed incredulously, finally stealing the ball back.

"I prefer football."

"Or maybe grid-iron. That isn't nearly as confusing, we could call it that-"

"The tribe has spoken. Hand-egg it is!"

"Hey, that's not fair!"

"Quit whining, Brian. You've been doing it all day."

"Better to whine than make a decree without having any real power, King Nothing."

"King _Nothing_? I take offense, Court _Jester_ Bwine..."

"Good."

"Oi," Roger Davies called out as he walked down the hill with Desmond Worthwright. The three turned to regard them with curiosity. What were two older students doing talking to _them_ randomly? "Can I have a word, Potter?"

"Uh, sure," James affirmed cautiously.

Roger looked around suspiciously. "In private?"

Desmond nodded in agreement, looking over his shoulder. "How about Hagrid's?"

"Hagrid?" James asked stupidly, looking at them shocked.

Travis cursed. "We haven't seen him yet!"

"I take it that is a yes?

* * *

"Well, can' say that I'm disappointed to see yeh three," Hagrid rumbled with a smile. "And you brought some friends?"

"Yeah," James answered as he walked in, taking a seat at his table. "This is Desmond, and that guy is Roger."

"All righ'?" Hagrid greeted.

"How goes it?" Desmond greeted back with a nod. "Well, I've never been in here before. It's…"

"It ain't the best, but its home."

Desmond nodded slowly. "You mind if we talk here? Me and Roger have something to ask Potter, but we don't want certain… people hearing it."

"Not at all, make yerselves at home. So, what is it that is so secret that you need to talk to James in meh hut?"

"Quidditch."

"Quidditch?"

"Aye," Roger affirmed. "Me and Desmond have a proposition."

"I want Roger and myself to train you to be a Chaser," Desmond explained. "So that you can take my place next year on the team. I have heard all the rumors about your twin brother, Harry, and Oliver Wood being all tight-lipped about it confirms it. I figured if they can have him now, we should have the right to groom you for later."

James stared. They wanted _him_ to _train_ to be a _Chaser_? James had honestly never thought about playing quidditch, it never appealed to him. In fact, he preferred making his dad pay gobs of money so that he could watch New York Jets and Boston Red Sox games on the TV. Besides, what could they expect from him anyway, seeing as he was only eleven?

"You want to _what_, again?"

"Train. I'm a seventh year, which means this is my last. The chances of me winning the Quidditch House Cup this year are slim, but I can help pave the way for the future so that _you_ can. I will be gone, and Roger wants you to take over for me. And after what I just watched today, so do I."

"You watch me after one flying lesson and you're convinced I'm you're next big hero?"

Desmond laughed and shook his head. "No, but when you accurately threw that hand-egg over fifty yards, I was kinda sold."

"I knew it! I knew that was what we should- I mean, yeah, it was nothing special."

* * *

"Okay, Potter, I trust you know all about quidditch, right?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, holding Oliver Wood's broom as he hefted a heavy trunk out onto the pitch.

"Then I won't have to explain all the basic dynamics to you, then. How about I start you with golf balls, so you don't get overwhelmed?"

"Okay," Harry nodded again as he mounted his broom and kicked off, flying high above the pitch as Wood took off, holding the sack of clattering golf balls.

"Remember, all of the Chasers, Beaters, and Keepers have to stay in-bounds above the pitch. Only because the Snitch likes to fly behind the stands and off around the pylons are the Seekers allowed to stray. I won't throw these out of bounds, but remember that when we start you off in practice."

"Right," Harry noted, gripping his broom with white knuckles as he waited for Wood to toss the first ball in the air. "I'm ready."

* * *

"Okay, here's how it works. There are four balls-"

"I know how quidditch works, bro," James interrupted Roger.

"Oh," Roger stated simply, looking like a fish out of water. "Okay…"

"I don't know how it's played, though. I've watched games and my dad explained the basics, but I never really asked him about the specifics. How do I play Chaser?"

Desmond grinned and threw James a large, slightly heavy red ball with four dimples in it. "That is the quaffle, what we are going to be playing with. You know that the objective is to shoot through the hoops, so let's give it a shot, eh?"

Desmond handed James his back up broom, a used and slightly scratched but overall well-kept Nimbus 1500. Desmond saddled up on his own newer 1700 and Roger flew off on his new Cleansweep. James threw a leg over the room and kicked off himself, flying around a bit to get used to being up in the air. The Nimbus was ten times better than the raggedy Shooting Stars that the school owned. It handled well, turning on a dime and accelerating much more quickly. It could pull out of a dive and twist and turn without lagging in tail-wash.

"Right, are you used to it, Potter?" Desmond asked after James had taken it around the pitch.

"Yeah," he answered with a nod.

"Okay, well let's get started then. A good Chaser on his own can be a cunning and powerful force on the pitch, but our number one weapon against opposing Keepers is our teamwork. It is imperative that we do not become one or two dimensional, you get it?"

"Yeah, I think so. How do we mix things up?"

"Passing. I pass to you, you pass back, I hand off to Roger, who throws long to you… such moving around is hard for a solid Keeper to keep up with. Making a goal is glorious, but holding a formation and passing around is imperative to keeping them on their toes and second-guessing themselves. What we'll start out with is making sure you got the passing and scoring down pat. Roger will play Keeper, and we'll start flying down the pitch passing to each other. We'll get to the more complicated stuff later, let's start simple."

Roger took up his position at the end of the pitch, hovering in the middle of the three hoops. James caught the quaffle and passed to Desmond, who caught it with soft hands and pulled down sharply before passing the ball back to a mildly shocked James. He barely caught it in time, and then passed it back to Desmond, who threw it at the goal opposite Roger, making it soar beautifully through. Cursing, Roger went after the quaffle and tossed it back to Desmond.

"Okay, that was good," Desmond started, hovering in the air beside Roger. "You passed my first real test. You certainly have instincts, but now I'm going to start making things a little trickier. Roger is an amazing Chaser, but a real Keeper would never have fallen for such a mild and unoriginal passing pattern. I'm going to show you some formations and passing drills, and then we'll practice them, alright?"

* * *

And so all throughout October, James trained with Roger and Desmond. James Sr. was overjoyed that both of his sons had gotten so deep into quidditch so early, a sentiment he had expressed in every letter he had sent. They were taught formations and passing patterns and how to break off and when to fall back in and how to dive after a Snitch properly. They were serious about getting him up to and above par; they held private lessons with him on the days whenever quidditch practice wasn't going on. Harry, who with the exception of Oliver and the Weasley twins, wasn't readily accepted on the team, quickly proved himself as a good Seeker. By the time Halloween came around, James had far outperformed the standards that Desmond had laid out for him. Desmond had marveled at how fast a learner James was so much so, that he gave him Halloween and the week after off, which fell perfectly into James' upcoming plans. Between classes and homework, quidditch practice and lessons, there was little time for pranks. But James was slowly but surely bringing his latest up to scratch.

"We're going after Mrs. Norris," he blurted out when he and the other two were sitting in their spot in the common room.

"Mrs. Norris? Filch's cat?"

"The one and only, that mangy, fur-licking beast."

"I agree, but how are we going to get away with it?"

"Elementary, dear Barker. We are going to lure her away from Filch, with a special little… something."

"And what would that be?"

"Something Fred and I have been working on. Covertly, of course, but almost fool-proof."

"'Almost?'" Travis inquired cautiously from his spot on the floor. He finished his push-ups and sat cross-legged on the floor picking up his potions book. "Sounds a little risky," he warned as he began taking notes.

"Don't worry; it'll be so… _irresistible_ that Mrs. Norris will be so far away from Filch and anybody else that she'll be easy pickings. The little cretin will finally know what it feels like being a mouse, and rightfully so. I _hate_ cats."

"Well, you can tell us what we're going to do to this cat, I hope?" Brian asked, dubious himself. He strummed an open E on the old guitar a couple times, and made a face. Tuning the string he hit it again and smiled appreciatively. "Nothing better sounding than a finely tuned six string."

"Scare the living daylights out of her," James replied casually, not looking up from his Transfiguration homework.

"Sounds like fun," Brian giggled from over the wooden rim of the acoustic guitar. "Did you hear what Ron and Harry did to Hermione Granger today?"

"Bashed her so bad after Charms that she spent the rest of the day locked in a bathroom?" James asked tentatively, knowing where the conversation was heading and regretting it.

"Priceless…"

"Can't say the know-it-all didn't have it coming," Travis agreed with a sinister grin.

"Yeah, she did. But I heard that Ron may have gone… a bit too far?"

"Feeling sorry for Miss British Buck-Tooth Nineteen-ninety one, Jimmy Dean?" Travis goaded, daring him to say that he was.

"No," James quickly defended, but almost immediately regretted it. Dad had explained to him that he was merely sinking to her level, as he put it, and that from what he had accounted to his father, had been just as rude to her as she was to him. Travis and Brian didn't think as highly and even suggested that they make her their next prank target.

James sighed; such thinking was giving him a headache. Looking down at his watch, he noticed that it was almost time for the Halloween feast. "Halloween feast starts soon, wanna head down?"

"Yeah, I'm starved," Brian answered, putting down his guitar.

"Nothing better to do," Travis agreed, standing up and throwing his book down on the coffee table with an audible _crack_. "Shall we?"

* * *

The Great Hall was decorated with massive pumpkins carved into humorously sinister jack-o-lanterns and flying bats around the floating sea of candles. The tables were covered in orange and black tablecloths, with matching plates and serving dishes. The teachers' table was bedecked similarly, but with much more extravagance.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Terry Boot asked as soon as the three sat down. "You and Brian looked like, well, like somebody's died."

James was shocked to find that he _felt_ like somebody had died. An almost-emptiness filled him, as if somebody he was connected to but didn't even know, was gone. Looking at Brian, he shrugged. Brian nodded, affirming that he felt the same.

"I dunno," James answered honestly. "I guess it's just the atmosphere."

"Oh," Terry nodded. "That makes sense."

Kiara looked up from across the table. "I feel it, too."

James stared at her, shocked. "It feels like there is something… gone?" he whispered, leaning across the table and staring her in the eye.

"Yeah. It's weird…"

"Yes, it _is_ weird," Travis interrupted, piling a juicy portion of meat onto his plate. "Cut it out, you guys are just being idiotic, like usual."

James ceased and desisted. Despite himself, he pulled a hefty portion of ham onto his plate and buried it under a mountain of vegetables and potatoes. He ate his fill and more as he chugged pumpkin juice to wash it down. Feeling sickeningly full, he looked up at Harry, who strained to smile back. He looked like he and Ron had eaten half their table's food. James nodded back as Clare Stovold took a seat next to him. As soon as she did, however, Emma got up and left the Hall.

"Hey, James," she greeted, as Lyra sat on the opposite side of him. "Me and Lyra were wondering when your next prank is going to be."

"Huh?"

"I must say that your previous ones have been most delightful, like the timed no-heat fireworks in the fourth floor bathrooms, or the lightning strike near the kitchens. But none have been as stupendous or ambitious as the botched King's Cross debacle. When is your next 'big hit' going to be? The whole school is up in arms about it. Malfoy himself threatened Ernie Macmillan when he heard him and Hannah Abbott betting on what it will be."

"We're being betted on?" Travis asked over a spoonful of tiramisu.

"Dude…" Brian groaned.

James stared at Clare as if she had grown another head. "It's a secret. And now I couldn't tell you what it was regardless, lest I give you a gambling advantage."

Clare grinned girlishly and giggled. "Oh, well, that's fine! It'll be like a super big surprise, just for me!"

"Er… yeah," James stammered. "We'll dedicate it _just_ for you."

"Yay! Just for that, I'll totally root for you in the first Ravenclaw match next weekend!"

"Uh… what?"

"Oh, Desmond Worthwright didn't tell you? Jeremy Stretton-you know, the third Chaser for Ravenclaw? Yeah, he accidently blew himself up in Potions, and he is stuck in St. Mungo's for the next three weeks, and you are the only reserve that is ready to play, so he and Roger Davies is planning on appealing to Professor Flitwick and Headmaster Dumbledore to let you play. He hasn't told you yet?"

"No! Why in God's name did he tell you!?"

"He didn't," Clare giggled in a seditious whisper. "I overheard him and Davies whispering about it in the Charms corridor."

James goggled at her. "You must be joking."

"Nope!" Clare chirped happily, but quickly realized that James wasn't taking the news well. "Well, good luck… Come, Lyra, we have to go finish our Herbology studying… and good luck with the next big gag, I'm sure it will be-"

"TROLL! T-t-troll. In the dungeon!" Quirrell's stammering voice resounded throughout the Hall. Many a strangled gasp hurried whisper filled the Great Hall as Clare jumped and Lyra's eyes bugged out of her face. Quirrell stumbled to the head table and whispered another wheezy "Troll, in the dungeon…" before falling unconscious.

"Some Defense against the Dark Arts teacher he is," George Weasley muttered loudly. A few people laughed nervously, but everyone else simply panicked.

"Calm, everyone! Calm," Dumbledore demanded from his chair. "Prefects, take your fellow students to your houses, and do not delay. All of you must not venture beyond your common rooms the rest of the evening. All teachers, please follow me," he ordered, and set off for the dungeon with a trail of anxious teachers following. All of them except Quirrell, who remained passed out on the floor, James noticed, and _Snape_.

"James," Harry whispered, suddenly appearing next to him. "It's Hermione, she is still up in the lavatory, she doesn't know!"

"What?"

"Who cares," Travis scoffed. "The troll will be doing us a-"

"I dare you to finish that," James cut him off. "I dare you."

Travis held his hands up. "Fine, fine, but don't expect me to-"

"We're _all_ going to find her," Harry demanded. "Let's go!"

* * *

Kiara entered the bathroom and washed her face in the first possible sink. She had eaten at the feast and had enjoyed it, but when Clare started talking, invading the table, she simply had to leave. She had nothing against the Slytherin girl, she really didn't. In fact, she respected her for her disregard for "House Segregation," as Malfoy would call it. But the witch was just so _weird_.

A pureblood with a rather odd fascination with Muggles and useless facts about them, one would think she would have been born a Weasley. And according to Kiara's father, there were blood traitors, and then there were _Weasleys_. And another thing about Clare that miffed Emma was her random appearances around the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. She just popped in and started talking, and then as if she had gotten so bored with what she was talking about that she had to cease her conversation and walk away, dragging her friend Lyra with her, usually by the elbow. And why did she have to talk to James so much? Granted, she talked to everyone at random, but she had a knack for appearing at James' side much more than anybody else.

_I sound so jealous right now_, Kiara berated herself. "I am not envious of Clare Stovold."

A sudden gasp broke Kiara's self-conversation. She napped her head around and asked, "Who's here?"

"M-me," Hermione Granger's voice sounded from the furthest stall.

"Hermione?"

"Yes," the girl sobbed.

"Are you… alright?" Kiara asked as she walked over and opened the stall door "Have you been in here all day?"

"Y-hic-yes."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Kiara simpered, kneeling and hugged Hermione, who readily grasped back. Kiara heard the girl gasp suddenly, and rode it off as her just being breathless. But moments after, the stupid, rumbling growl told her otherwise.

* * *

"Where in Merlin's name did she go?" Ron cursed, looking back and forth down the hall.

"Yeah, keep turning your head on a swivel in an empty hall," Travis snorted. "Maybe she''ll appear from out of a wall."

"Travis, no offense, but what is your problem?" Brian pried. "I know Granger ain't the greatest person, but really, what has your- oh, damn."

The troll stumbled past at the end of the hall, unaware of the five boys. It disappeared, but a loud, resounding bang told them where it was, while a pair of piercing screams told them where Hermione was.

"C'mon," James urged, he and Harry sprinting towards the end of the hall.

"Easy for you to say, you have no brains!" Ron complained, following after them.

Brian and Travis looked at each other questioningly. Travis shrugged at Brian's quirked head. "C'mon, bro," Travis consented. "Let's make sure Harry and Jimmy Dean don't get crushed to death."

Upon crossing the threshold of the girls' bathroom, James immediately saw that the gigantic monster had Hermione and Emma Kennedy cornered in the furthest stall of the room, hugging each other. The stalls had been obliterated, and many of the toilets were shattered, flinging water across the floor. The troll itself was well over fifteen feet tall, with boils popping out of its gray and sickly skin. It smelled like it had never been introduced to a shower and had dirt caked on its bald head and behind its large, round ears. Gaping at the unintelligent beast, James was at a loss at what to do. Naturally, Harry thought it was best to refer command to him.

"James, what do we do?!"

"I don't know!"

"Well, think of something!"

"Me?! This was _your_ idea!"

"I'm the brave and noble Gryffindor, I don't think on my feet! Use your brilliant Ravenclaw wittiness!"

"Would you two do _something_?!" Hermione shrieked as the toilet she and Emma had previously been occupying just a split second before became vaporized under the crushing force of the troll's large wooden club.

Pushed into action, James did the one thing he was best at. "Hey, ugly! Yeah, you! I woulda' been yo' daddy, but the dog beat me over the fence!"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, waving his arms. "You make my grandmum look pretty, and she's been dead for like, a hundred years!"

"You're so fat, Rosie O'Donnell's like _damn_!" Brian threw in, grabbing a broken plank of wood and tossing it to Ron.

"You make a dumb blond look like Einstein!" Travis snarled as he threw a piece of porcelain at the idiotic giant's head. "Your mother pulled tricks in a swamp and your father reeked of elderberries!"

"I have no insult!" Ron roared as he took the plank of wood and snapped it over the immense calf of the troll. The thing kicked back and sent him flying into the wall. It turned to regard the rest, and grunted stupidly.

"Yeah, that's right," Travis boasted, waving his arms gloatingly. "I know Muggle gangsters more scary than you, cracker! I'll shank you so-Oof!" Travis went flying as the Troll swung at him. Harry charged at that point, brandishing his wand and grabbing the club as it arced.

"Whoa!" he screamed as the troll brought it back around, staring at Harry as he held onto it. It pulled the gnarled plank up to his face and stared oafishly at Harry before roaring, covering Harry in a gale of slobber. "Ugh," Harry scoffed as he shoved his wand up the beast's nose.

"Harry!" James screamed.

"Emma, Hermione, c'mon!" Brian screamed, waving the two towards him. "While it's distracted!"

As the two ran past the troll, James jumped at it. It pulled Harry off its club and was beginning to slam it into him when Ron screamed, "_Wingardium_ _Leviosa_!"

The club flew up in the air, thudded against the ceiling, and promptly slammed into the troll's face, knocking it out. James and Harry were careened into the wall, but thudded to the floor safely atop a pile of shattered stall doors.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they heard me say this," James muttered as he pushed Harry off of him and swatted at the troll saliva that got swiped on him. "But son of a _bitch_."

Brian started giggling uncontrollably. Travis started laughing after him, slapping his thigh and sliding down the wall and plopping down on the wet and flooded floor. Harry followed, throwing his arm around James's shoulder throwing a glob of troll spit at him. James cackled evilly back and tackled Harry to the tiles and forcibly washing the spittle off of his robes.

"It never ceases to amaze me how ye all laugh in the face o' clear and imminent danger," Emma muttered fearfully. She was sitting up to the wall with her knees to her chest, her eyes staring at the snoozing form of the troll and not leaving it as she spoke. "Ye are insane. All a' ye are bloody insane. Ye are all a bunch of neddy wackjobs. The whole lot of you."

"Why thank you," Travis said happily. "We take great pleasure from you-"

"What in Merlin's Pants happened in here!?" McGonagall shrieked as the entire teaching staff walked in. "Potter!"

"Ma'am?" James asked, smiling sheepishly.

"What did you do!"

"Uh…"

"We know that this was your doing, Potter," Snape sneered, looking directly at Harry, but the git did manage a side-glare at James, lest he feel left out. "We have caught you at the scene of your crimes."

"Crime?" Brian spat incredulously. "We try to warn Hermione that a troll is looking to disturb her sob-fest and you want to blame us?"

"Oh, yes! Profess your innocence to me!"

"Professor Snape," Flitwick chided silently. "Surely you do not believe these children are here for malicious reasons?"

"These two, just like their father, they-"

"May I ask you why your leg is bleeding, Professor?" Travis pointed out.

Snape glared at Travis as he covered his torn pant leg with his robes. "Mind your own, Barker."

"Well, my bro does have a point…" James trailed. "Snape didn't exactly follow when you ordered, Headmaster," James finally continued, looking up at Dumbledore.

"How very astute of you, James," the wizened old man said with a smile. With a twinkle in his eye, he referred to Snape. "Professor Snape went to handle something else, under my specific orders should something awry happen unexpectedly. Now, this scene tells me a story, but I'd rather hear your version. Why did you seek out the troll when you were told in detail to go straight to your dormitories?"

"Well, aha ha, that's the thing-"

"We were just-"

"Yeah, and-"

"The troll came out of nowhere and-"

"They were trying to stop me!" Hermione cried. The teachers turned and looked at Hermione in shock.

"Oh?" Dumbledore looked at her with curiosity. "And why was this, Miss Granger?"

"I- I went after the troll. They just were trying to stop me. I locked it in here, but I didn't know Kiara was in here, so I had to reopen the door, and it all just…"

"…fell apart?" Dumbledore finished helpfully.

"Yes… I expect I should be packing soon."

"Nonsense," McGonagall sniffed. "Fifty points from Gryffindor, and a month's detention. But you will not leave Hogwarts tonight, Miss Granger. As for you two," she turned towards Harry and Ron. "Twenty-five points each for attempting to thwart her… _foolish_ attempt!" McGonagall turned on her heel, threw her arms in the air and stormed out. "I will go catch Filch and have him clean up this mess!"

"And the same to you three," Flitwick nodded at James, Brian, and Travis. "Twenty-five points each, to Ravenclaw. Miss Kennedy, will you be alright?"

"Yes, Professor Flitwick," Emma intoned. She still had her gaze locked on the troll's faint form. "I am well."

"Yes, well," Flitwick stumbled over words. It was obvious that she wasn't. "Will you boys take her back to the dormitory? Harry, you and Mr. Weasley should escort Miss Granger as well. Well, off to bed, then."

"Pip-pip!" Dumbledore urged, waving his hands in the direction of the door with a smile. The boys looked over their shoulders uncertainly. "You will all need a good night's rest before your classes tomorrow!"

Harry and Ron both followed a shaky Hermione out of the bathroom at a record pace. James and Brian each gently grabbed a shoulder and hefted Emma up. Leading her out with Travis following, they all but sprinted from the room and the teachers. James distinctly heard Snape whining about letting them "off the hook." James smiled despite the situation; Snape had no idea what James was capable of getting away with, a fact Mrs. Norris would find out soon enough.

"Du-ude… that was so close!" Brian exclaimed as soon as they were well away from the ears of the Professors.

"Yeah, I know," Travis muttered disbelievingly. "What just happened?"

"I think," James said, with an air of finality, "That we are now near and dear friends with Hermione Granger. From this point on, she is our sister, and may God himself help those who speak ill of her golden soul. That includes you," he added as he grinned at Emma. "Sister."

For some reason, he didn't think she found that very comforting.


	13. Chapter 13: Quidditch! Part 1

Hello again, readers. Due to a technical mishap, my editor was late in sending last chapter, so now here I am, with the next one ready to go! This is a nice time to announce that I'm beginning my start on The Twins Potter and the Chamber of Secrets! Yay! I'm leaving a little sneak peak of the prologue at the end of this chapter, so feel free to read it, as well. I'm also going to add charater bios at the end of some chaptyers here in there, to help you get a broader scope of who they are. I hope you find it interesting, I had fun making them!

Anyway, this is Harry's first Quidditch match, and we learn whether or not Clare's big announcement last chapter is real or false. Oh, goody! You know what the answer is anyway, so no suspense there, anyway…

Enjoi

**Recommended Listening: Know Your Enemy**

**Artist: Green Day**

**Album: 21st Century Breakdown**

"Blasted damnation!" Quirrell screamed as he stormed into his study after his final class on the day after Halloween, ripping his turban off.

Voldemort hissed quietly to himself. The fool's plan was oh-so-very sound. Bring in a troll from one of the surrounding mountains, distract the teachers, clear the students… it was so very brilliant in its simplicity, but had been spoiled by the clever Dumbledore. Even then it may have worked, if Snape had been forced to forgo guarding the third floor corridor to help the teachers fight it off rather than safe house the door to his one and only desire; the Stone. But alas, the Potter twins and their worthless friends took care of the troll for their precious professors, the meddling _runts_.

Voldemort grunted to himself. _Why do I have to sound like such a... such a... _muggle _cartoon villain?_

"If only I had managed to kill them when I had that chance…" he hissed from the back of the fool's head. "If only…"

Voldemort cut that line of thought off where it stood. No room was there for "What could have been." He didn't know what saved their lives, much less their annoying parents, and he didn't quite care, at least not at that point in time. The time for affirmative action was, as always, right now.

"We need to take care of them. Permanently," Voldemort whispered.

"We can curse Harry at the game. He is playing Seeker for Gryffindor, and it would be the opportune time for him to… _fall_?"

"That works… unless Dumbledore is there."

"He shall not be, M'Lord, he will be attending a meeting with Minister Fudge that day until well into the eve."

"Very well. Now on to other business."

His clever mind reeled in Quirrell's head, scrambling for a way to get into that hall. Voldemort thought maybe- no. He _couldn't_ think; his grip on this world was slowly fading, and he was near done. He needed _sustenance_.

"Quirinus, I'm not going to last. This little plot is taking longer than planned and I'm losing my grip."

"What?" the idiot asked stupidly. "My lord, why didn't you say anything before? I could have just-"

"Could have just what, you _fool_!? I am a spirit clinging to a world it _doesn't_ belong in and _you_ think there is a simple solution for my predicament?"

"Yes, M'Lord. The Forbidden Forest has many unicorns grazing its depths, and as we both know, they can supply immortality to spirits and Dark Wizards."

"I-" the Dark Lord started, but cut himself off. It was a sound idea. In fact, it was a _brilliant_ plan. "Then we go tonight, my vessel. We go out tonight."

Maybe Quirinus Quirrell wasn't such an imbecile, after all…

* * *

Harry had all but scrambled up the ladder and into the Gryffindor common room. What had at first been a gallant quest to get _Quidditch Through The Ages_ back from Snape had turned into a startling discovery; proof that Snape was after something big!

"Guys! You'll never-"Harry started, but stopped when he noticed James, Brian and Travis were sitting on the couch and chairs around the fire, all doing homework with Ron and Hermione. Percy, who was sitting at the desk across the room, looked like he was that close to throwing them out, but Fred and George kept distracting him. "What are you three doing in here?"

"I told them they shouldn't be in here," Hermione blurted from her spot next to James. "But they insisted that they were fine and 'dandy' in here."

"Fred and George let us in," Travis explained. "You don't mind if we crash on these couches for the night, do ya? These things are wicked comfy… This place is just as cool as Ravenclaw Tower!"

"I…"

"Dude, I brought the guitar! We can stay up after homework and tell stories and jokes and stuff!" Brian burst excitedly.

"It sounds… _fun_… but why are you here?"

"What, a bro can't hang with his bro?" James asked innocently, but Harry knew he had an ulterior motive.

"I know you aren't here for fun and games, James."

"Hey, that rhymed!"

"James!"

"Okay, okay, geez…" James relented, holding up his hands. "It has come to my attention that you have been going out on late-night romps and that you have come across some interesting, possibly 'I-can-totally-get-expelled-for-just-knowing-this' kinda things. And we wanna know what you already know."

"No," Harry stated simply.

"C'mon, mate," Ron urged. "James is better at sneaking around and finding stuff out, he could help."

"As much as I hate to admit it… I agree with Ron. And Snape's actions during the whole Troll Incident have really just upped the ante."

"What? Auntie?" Ron asked.

"Never mind, Ron, you've never played poker."

"Poker?"

"I'll tell you about it later," Harry and James answered, Harry impatient and James calmly.

"Okay, I'll tell you…"

So Harry did. He told James about Draco Malfoy challenging him to a late night duel ("Hey, that would explain the yelling coming from the Trophy Room that night!" Brian exclaimed in realization.) He told James about how Draco had set him up and almost got caught, just to escape into finding a three-headed dog on the third floor. Hermione cut in and explained that it was guarding something, a trapdoor. And then they explained how a few suspicious activities that Snape had gotten into made them think that he was after something the tri-headed mutt was guarding.

"Interesting… now, I take it that your excited, 'Guys, I need to tell you something!' from earlier had something to do with this as well?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, sitting up on the edge of his seat. "He was in the Teacher's Study with Filch, and his leg was mangled."

"Duh, Jimmy Dean pointed that out on Halloween," Brian pointed out with a shrug. "Dumbledore justified him, remember?"

"Yeah, but this was fresh cuts over the old. And that isn't all; he was talking to Filch about it."

"The clown? That was a horrible movie!"

"I didn't know Snape watched muggle movies," Travis snorted. "But now that you mention it, he does look like some actor that I've seen…"

"What is a movie?" Ron asked innocently, looking between James and Travis with confusion written on his face.

"Bah, we'll show you sometime, Ron" Harry rubbed his temples. "No, not the movie. He was talking about the dog."

"Whoa."

"Yeah. He talked like he was trying to get past it."

"Wouldn't put it past him," Brian scoffed. "That prick is always trying to screw somebody over."

"I believe it, too," Travis agreed. "He seems like the kind of person that's always looking out for number one."

"And how many times do I have to tell you that Snape is a professor at Hogwarts!?" Hermione chided. "Dumbledore must trust him for a reason!"

"But Hermione," Harry pleaded. "He is not making himself look innocent."

Harry looked to James for support. If anybody was to back him up, it was his twin. Snape hated him just as much as he did Harry, not that Harry thought that that would make James side with him. James had said from the first day that something seemed off about him, and this could be it!

"I dunno," James sighed, looking pensive. "I hate to say it, but I agree with 'Mione."

"What!?" Ron and Harry asked, flabbergasted.

" Snape has to be trustworthy by Dumbledore. Dad has mentioned Snape to us before, remember? And though he has shown that there is bad blood between them, he trusts Snape because Dumbledore apparently does so to, with his life. But I also agree with you that something really is amiss. Maybe Snape is just trying to… check on this Victor India Oscar."

"What?" Harry, Hermione, and Ron asked, confused.

"'Very Important Object.' V-I-O." Travis interpreted. "Military phonetics, we use them when we are out on pranks. Or when we need to discuss something important and secret, so that any would-be snitch's…" Travis shot a discreet but angry look at Percy- "Have no clue what we're talking about."

"That's…" Hermione started, looking like she was about to lecture. James winced as he waited for it- "Brilliant, you three! I don't think I would ever have come up with something that clever!"

James breathed a sigh of relief while Brian puffed his chest out. "It was totally my idea!"

* * *

"Whoa," Harry breathed with appreciation.

"Wicked," Ron whispered in awe.

"Whatcha got, Hare?" James asked as he walked up to the two as they stood outside of the Great Hall.

"Dad sent me a broom."

"A broom? Because you got onto the quidditch team?"

"Yeah…"

"So Dumbledore has allowed you to have your own broom?"

"Yeah, and Dad bought me a new one just for the occasion…"

"What is it?"

"A Nimbus 2000."

"No way," James gasped, disbelieving.

"Way."

"No. Freaking. Way."

"Here it is, you wanna look?" Harry asked, handing the polished and shiny broom to him.

James saw the smooth the ash handle and Maplewood twig-tail, felt the fine finish, and could smell the varnish on the handle as if it was fresh off the assembly line, but couldn't believe the wonder at which he was holding. His mind simply couldn't grasp the concept that his twin brother had the top of the line, crème-de le-crème, most advanced racing broom in production. "I can't believe the wonder at which I am currently holding," he sighed as he stared at the words Nimbus 2000 emblazoned in gold on the tip of the broom. He stood slack-jawed and near drooling for a whole minute before Travis and Brian made their appearance.

"Hey guys, what's- is that…?" Brian trailed as caught sight of the broom.

"It is!" Travis exclaimed in wonder.

"Whose is it?" the chorused, looking at Harry as if waiting for him to tell them that it was Wood's.

"Mine," Harry stated quietly, but with pride.

"No way!"

"That's what James said," Ron chortled, running his hands down the broom's handle with care, as if scared that his touch would break it.

"Bro," Travis addressed, Harry, "You are going to be the best Seeker in the school this year."

* * *

_Three days later…_

"I'm dead," Harry bleated in a blank voice, staring through the Gryffindor table as if it wasn't there.

"Okay, bro, I know this is your first day, and first game, as a starting Seeker. I know that this has got to be the most nerve-wracking experience in the world. But _dammit_, Harry, you need to eat."

"Easy for you to say, James," Harry bit at his twin. "You don't start your first game until next year."

"Not from what I hear…"

"Ye need to eat, Harry," Seamus piped up helpfully. "Seekers are the ones who take the most clobberin'."

"Thanks, Finnegan," James fumed as the Weasley twins ambled up, already dressed in their full quidditch robes.

"Oi, you alright, Harry?" Fred asked as he sat down next James. "Feeling a bit-"

"Nervous?" George finished, sitting next to Harry. "'Cause we have just the thing to ease-"

"Your nerves. It isn't exactly the most-"

"Rule-abiding substance in the world, but-"

"It helped us in our first game. It's grade-O perfect to-"

"Settle those butterflies-"

"In your stomach. Guaranteed."

"If you guys are planning on giving him what I think you're planning on giving him," James warned, holding a finger up accusingly. "Think twice. The last thing you need is a drunken Seeker."

George feigned shock. "We would never-"

"Give him that much! He's way to-"

"Important for that! Besides-"

"We'd only give him enough Ogden's to numb him a bit."

"Yeah, well 'enough to numb' in your sense is enough to give him a hangover."

"How do you know about such adult things, anyway?" Fred asked curiously.

"Live in New York for a while and hang with some street folk, you'd be amazed what you could learn."

"Ah," George consented with a look of realization. "That would explain your less than British accent."

"Aye. Now, when does the game start?"

"Eleven, sharp," Harry recited monotonously. "Slytherin, Marcus Flint, Chaser, as Captain."

"That is so-never mind. Harry, my twin, good luck. I have to head up to the common room real quick. I'll be in the stands cheering for ya, for sure. Now eat!"

"Yeah," Harry affirmed neutrally, staring at his plate blankly. "Later."

James patted Harry on the back and left the Great Hall. He was trying to be supportive of Harry, but he too was feeling nervous about quidditch. Clare's news from Halloween had not exactly come to fruition yet, but the way Desmond Whitworth kept looking at him like he was sizing him up, kept preying on his brain, not least keeping him on his toes. Mrs. Norris' revenge had taken a backseat as he paid more and more attention to his quidditch lessons with Roger. If he was going to be enlisted into playing this year, he did not want to make himself a fool. Not if he could help it.

The corridors of Hogwarts were full with students meandering and chatting about the upcoming match. Many Gryffindors and Slytherins had forsaken the school uniforms for more festive and supporting attire. The players themselves walked around in their actual uniforms sans the over-robes, while the spectators wore red or green sweaters, or even a few more Muggle-orientated students were clad in self-made House t-shirts and jeans. James liked their sense of style; it reminded him of his first Jets game with Father Duke. He idly considered making a NFL styled jersey with Gryffindor or Ravenclaw colors and symbols. Mentally drawing it up in his mind, he whistled nonchalantly as he strolled his way up to Ravenclaw tower.

Halfway up a staircase, he saw Desmond hurriedly going down, in his direction. When the Head Boy and Ravenclaw captain looked up and saw him, his expression of discontent darkened into uncertainty and anger.

"Hey, Potter."

"Desmond," James greeted back with just as much anxiety. Desmond had been avoiding James of late, steering clear of him in the common room and even skipped his last three private lessons. The fact that he was finally talking to him did not bode well.

"You know what happened to Jeremy Stretton, right?"

"Yeah, word is that he 'blew himself up' in Snape's class."

"No," Desmond corrected angrily, scratching the back of his neck. "He is stuck in St. Mungo's for a while. He was experimenting with some Advanced Potions book he found in Snape's broom cupboard afterhours last week. That irresponsible git blew himself and half of that greasy-haired mongrel's office to China and back! I have half a mind to indefinitely kick him off the team. He has never taken quidditch seriously! All academics and studying and all of his extra-curricular clubs, the experiments, and the breaking into the library's Restricted Section… I can't take it anymore. I want someone who is serious about the game. But we… we don't really have a replacement."

Oh no, James thought with an icicle growing in his spine. Here it comes…

"Me and Roger have been talking to Flitwick and Dumbledore, and both have consented that since your brother gets to play full time for Gryffindor, you could play one game to replace Stretton."

And there is the pitch! James cursed mentally. That was not what he wanted. He would screw up, get kicked out of the team permanently, and never play quidditch in Hogwarts ever again, so much of an idiot he would make himself.

_Wait a second_, a conflicting voice interjected. _Since when did the great James Dean Potter ever question himself? Since when did he not go into something without his head held high and proud? I am a Potter, and I can do whatever the hell I want, when I want, however I want._

Before James could rein in on his more logical, pessimistic self, he brazenly replied, "I'll do it."

"That's what I like to hear!" Desmond screamed triumphantly, shaking a fist in the air. James stood shocked at his dramatic mood swing as the seventh year gripped him by the shoulders and stared at him with admiration. "I was afraid you would be reluctant because you're so young, but somehow I knew you would pull through for me! You are ten times better than Jeremy anyway! We have practice with the team Monday night after dinner! Don't be late!"

Desmond clapped James on the shoulder and practically skipped down the stairs. James swore he heard him whistling "We are the Champions." Staring at his new boss's fast fading back, James thought disastrously about what he just committed himself to.

"I am so dead," he whispered to no one in particular. "I'm going to die."

* * *

James had mirrored Harry after his meeting with Desmond. Without realizing it, he had changed into Gryffindor-friendly clothes, including an old t-shirt his dad had given him and a light army-styled jacket, coupled with a pair of jeans ripped at the knee and a ratty pair of Chuck Taylor's, that were once a crisp black with white toes but were so faded and dirty that they were almost a uniform gray. Somehow he knew that Malfoy would try to belittle him for being a rich kid who dressed something akin to a hobo, but he didn't care. James liked his style of worn shirts, torn jeans and loose fitting Converse, and if Malfoy had a problem with it, then shame on him.

James barely remembered making it to the pitch. Somewhere along the journey from the dormitory to the stadium Brian, Travis, Emma, Ron, Hermione, and some Gryffindor named Neville Longbottom joined him in his trek, but he heard none of their friendly banter. He didn't laugh with the rest when Neville tripped over a hole and face planted into the dirt, nor did he stop to help him up. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime of walking, he was sandwiched into a seat along the northern side of the ring between Ron and Travis. He vaguely felt the sensation of what a squirrel would feel if it was caught between two massive hounds, but it barely registered in his clouded mind.

Dean Thomas was quite the artist, and had crafted a lion on a ruined bed sheet painted red and gold. Hermione had charmed it to move and roar, and the even emblazoned on it the words _Potter for President!_ Seamus waved it around like it was the national flag.

Madam Hooch all but forced the two Captains' hands into shaking, and all the players mounted their brooms.

"I'm going to be playing next week," he suddenly blurted, and the sound of his own voice snapped him out of his reverie.

Travis laughed non-committedly. "Yeah, dude, whatever."

"What? I mean- what did I just say?"

Ron chuckled and patted him on the back. "You seem to believe that you are playing in the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff game next week, mate."

"Oh, I said that? I mean, I am playing in the game next week…"

Ron's face turned serious. "You… you're bloody serious!"

Brian shook him. "Never mind, the game's starting!"

Fifteen brooms rose up into the air and the balls were all thrown up. Almost immediately, the Golden Snitch hurtled off and out of sight, Harry and the Slytherin Seeker, some seventh year named Terrence, flew after it, high and wide until they both lost it. Settling down above the pitch, they sought after it in the peaceful air.

Down below, it was anything but peaceful. The Gryffindor Chasers were lightning fast and complex. Fred and George were all over the place, batting the Bludgers and keeping them off of the Chasers and Harry. Angelina Johnson was the eldest and most experienced, but James noted that Katie Bell was just a bit better. He filed this in his brain and kept her moves stored, so that he could bring it up later.

"Goal, Gryffindor!" Lee Jordan screamed ecstatically. He proceeded to lavish on about Angelina, until McGonagall threatened him.

Marcus Flint, the Slytherin's captain and their number one Chaser, was far from complex. His moves were sloppy and brutish, mirroring his oafish looks. Montague, the second Chaser, was also a lumbering meathead who seemed to not be able to formulate the intricate flight patterns and passes that the Gryffindor's were pulling off. Adrian Pucey, the third and youngest, was the only one who was capable of keeping up with the three girls; he intercepted their passes handedly and scored the only goal Slytherin made in the half hour that the game went on without a word of the Snitch.

But when Harry and Terrence Higgs caught sight of it, the score was thirty to ten. Katie Bell scored twice. But when Harry and Terrence came tearing down from the skies, the tempo of the game changed. The other players momentarily stopped to watch as the two Seekers careened after the blazing golden ball. And then there was a flurry of movement and the next thing that James saw was Flint colliding with Harry in mid-air, throwing him off course and in the way of Higgs. Higgs had to pull up and break to avoid the out of control Harry, and in the turmoil the Snitch was lost.

After many jeers from Slytherin and roars of anger from the rest of the school, Hooch called for the foul. Alicia Spinnet tucked the quaffle in the hoops, and game play began again, only it was much dirtier. The Weasleys tended to club the Slytherins when Hooch wasn't listening. Flint stole a Beater bat from Lucian Bole and slammed Oliver Wood with a Bludger. Spinnet went down with a blow to the head and didn't get up for more than ten minutes. The game became a defensive struggle and no points were scored.

And that's when Hermione gasped and pointed at Harry. His broom was bucking and jerking like an enraged bull trying to shuck off some pesky cowboy. "Snape!" Hermione whispered, pointing at him as she tugged on James. "It's Snape!"

"That bugger!" Ron cursed.

"He's cursing the broom!" Brian stated the obvious.

"Let me handle this," James and Hermione chorused. They looked at each other, and nodded. They took off from their seats and sprinted towards the teachers' stands.

"Okay, be very quiet," James instructed, perched beneath the bleachers. "I'll cause a distraction, you do something to Snape."

"Right," Hermione nodded.

James looked back in forth, and up and down the teacher's section when he realized that the solution was right in front of him. Quirinus Quirrell. Carefully pulling himself up on the scaffolding, he gave Quirrell a mighty shove in the back and watched as he went tumbling down the rows. At that point and time, Hermione lit Snape's robes on fire, and they both pelted out of there.

* * *

"Ah!" Quirrell screamed as he plodded face first through a sea of his colleagues.

"The turban, you fool!" the Dark Lord whispered. "It's coming undone!"

Quickly grasping the cloth, he held it to his head and muttered his apologies. Something- or rather, _someone_, had pushed him in the back as he was cursing that boy, and he had a right good idea who it was.

"Professor Snape, you're on fire!" Charity Burbage squeaked.

On second thought, maybe he didn't have an idea, but rather _knew_ who was behind it.\

* * *

"He's done it, he's caught the Snitch!" Lee Jordan's voice echoed across the pitch.

"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it!" Marcus Flint's angry, barkish voice thundered.

"What did we miss?"

Brian handed a pair of binoculars to James. "Harry caught the Snitch with his mouth dude!"

"What!?" James exclaimed, staring down the lenses at his brother. Sure enough, there was Harry in the middle of the pitch, holding up a slobber-ridden golden ball with silver wings. "Gross! I love it!"

* * *

"James! James!"

It was the night after the game, and the others went on to Hagrid's to celebrate. James, however, had left early to go to the Great Hall. He had rediscovered his antsy feelings and had shut himself up.

"What, Harry?"

"Do you know anyone named Nicholas Flammel?"

"Flammel? It sounds familiar... maybe Dad would know."

"That's the thing; we can't go to Dad. It has something to do with Fluffy."

"Fluffy?"

"The three headed dog?"

"Oh. Wait, who would name a three-headed dog 'Fluffy'?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer but James cut him off. "Wait- DOn't answer that question. I honestly, honestly do now want to hear it."

* * *

… And now, the sneak peak at the Twins Potter and the Chamber of Secrets!

The hot summer air hit James and Harry like a ton of bricks as soon as they walked out the front door of Number 4, Privet Drive.

"I freaking hate this, man," James complained.

"Me too," Harry agreed.

The two brothers walked down the short driveway and began their trek towards the park. James pulled out his cassette player and turned the volume up. The heavy, rhythmic bass beats of Cliff Burton's guitar met Harry's ears with a kick. That was something he had learned about his formerly estranged twin; when he was down, he listened to loud and proud metal music.

Harry had been learning quite a bit about his twin James Dean since he first met him back in September of 1988. Every day he was learning something new and shocking about him, while James seemed to have Harry read like the back of his hand. He hadn't even known that he could speak a limited amount of Spanish until last Christmas.

"Where's Travis and Brian?" Harry asked loudly enough to get his twin's attention.

"Huh?" James tugged the headphones off.

"Where are the other two?"

"They said they'll meet us in the park. They wouldn't say where they were going, but that they would meet us in the park."

"Oh. Think it has something to do with today?"

James snorted. "I hope not. Last thing I need is those two throwing us a surprise birthday party in a park full of strangers. _British_ strangers, at that."

Another thing Harry had learned about his brother; he didn't endear himself to his home culture of England. James was so enamored with his American upbringing that he found it very hard to relate to the people in Britain. Because of this, James often avoided the gatherings and goings-on back home on the Isle of Wight and at Hogwarts; quidditch being the rare exception.

They walked into the park and went straight to the oak tree in the center; the designated meeting place. James checked his watch and sighed in exasperation; they themselves were ten minutes late.

"Where in hell are they?"

"The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower," the pastor preached from his Bible.

Brian yawned.

"Dude, why are we here?" he whispered to his best friend, Travis. He shushed Brian without taking his eyes off of the Father. He was leaned back in his pew, with his arms spread to either side of him on the back of the pew as one of his legs was curled underneath him.

"Dude, quit acting like Jimmy Dean," Brian quipped. Travis ignored him.

"These words are just one phrase among many that show God's love for his very creation. Strength is an almost flexible term. Some of us are strong with muscles and athletic ability; others are strong in will, in spirit. God gives us strength in many different forms, so that we are equipped to handle the problems that come our way. He gives us strength so that we can get through his trials."

"If God gave us the strength to handle all our problems on our own, why did he send Jesus then?" Travis asked loudly and suddenly. The entire church turned to regard Brian and Travis with shock and distaste. How dare he question the Pastor?

The Father, however, looked shockingly impressed.

"Dude, what do you think you are-"

"It's my party, I'll cry if I wanna," Travis cut off Brian and looked to the pastor challengingly.

"That is a good question. Why _did_ God send us his one and only begotten Son if we already had the tools to save ourselves? The answer, my child, is that even though we all have the strength to pass our tests, not everyone has the knowledge or the ambition to do so. Jesus came so that all of those lost souls would be able to find their way to the greener pastures. He came to save us."

'So in essence, we don't need strength. We are already saved."

"No. Jesus cannot save those who do not believe he exists, or those who turn him away."

"So by simply having faith, and accepting Jesus as your savior, will get somebody a one-way ticket to the pearly gates?"

"Well, yes."

"You don't sound convinced, Father."

"I know the word of God, my son."

"And yet the word of God has changed drastically over the years by corrupt church officials and governmental bureaucrats who sought to bring themselves power by taking advantage of an uneducated, religiously based population."

"You are highly educated for one so young… I take it you grew up in America, judging by your accent?"

"Yeah."

"I take it you are a Catholic, as well."

"Dude, how did he guess that?" Brian whispered.

"Dunno," Travis answered. He regarded the pastor again. "Yeah."

"Then you believe that you aren't given your place in Heaven. You have to earn it."

"That was the general idea, yes."

"So now it's my turn to ask you a question?"

"You just did."

A universal chuckle arose from the congregation. The Father himself chuckled, and shook his head. "Let's say you grew up all alone, you raised yourself out in some wild and open jungle. You would have no knowledge in Christ, am I correct?"

"Yeah…"

"So when you come back into society, you will be remarkably different than everyone around you. You would live a life based on logic and reasoning, sharpened by the life lived based on survival, rather than living a full life."

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"Well, that's a problem, ain't it? I mean, having a logical frame of mind is not bad, but I have learned one thing about people who live by logic and reasoning alone- they are selfish. That's because their logic is telling them what's best for them, and not for their neighbors or their world as a whole. Do you understand?"

"I hear ya," Travis affirmed. He was looking at the Crucifix around the Pastor's neck while paying half an ear to what the man was saying.

"Now ask that wild boy to come to church, and submit his life to Jesus. That's bound to be a problem for him."

"Yeah, it is…" Travis brought his eyes back up to the Father's, and found him smiling. It kinda gave Travis the creeps.

"That wild boy is each of us before we all find the glory of God. It is difficult for us to admit there is something bigger than us, and a difficult challenge for all of us to overcome. But that is a strength that God has given us; humility. It takes a truly strong person to admit they are not the top mate on the food chain. That, in my eyes, is all the payment you need to earn your place with Our Lord. Do you see?"

"Yeah, I- yeah."

The pastor grinned and held his hands up high and began a prayer.

"Dude, you shoulda just kept your trap shut," Brian whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

"That was worth it. Trust me."

"Boys, may I have a word?" the pastor asked once the sermon ended. They were on the front steps of the church and the park was in sight.

Brian shrugged as Travis nodded. The Father smiled and motioned to the steps, taking a seat himself. The two followed his example.

"I would like to apologize about the reception your argument got with the rest of the congregation. I find that most of my adult patrons, especially the senior citizens, are slow to question anything. So worried about the afterlife are they that they eat my words as if it were the absolute truth, and never do they stop to try and figure it out themselves. I would like to thank you for bringing your questions up this morning."

"Uh, no prob."

The pastor laughed. "It's refreshing to have someone actually try to figure out the word of God on their own rather than just taking it for what it is. I'd like you to have this," the man pulled the crucifix from his neck and folded it into Travis' hands. "It has seen me through a lot of bad days. I pray it does to you, as well. Now, I must go. God Bless, you two."

Travis looked at Brian and popped the cross in the air, while pulling out a bag of sweets and a Pride of Portree t-shirt. "Happy Birthday, Harry and Jimmy Dean."

Harry sat at the base of the tree while James had climbed up and was perched on a branch near the top, staring down at the bushes lining the jogging lane from the rest of the park. Metallica's Master of Puppets album thundered his ears as he reminisced at the year before. Many a mishap had happened, and not all of it was at all bad. Harry saved the Philosopher's Stone, both of them had made their House Quidditch teams, and had unintentionally made some very good friends.

_Friends_, James snorted. What good where Ron, Hermione and Emma if they had not written, much less written back? James and Harry couldn't send letters out anymore because Uncle Vernon had locked their wands and everything else magical up in a cupboard and threw away the key. But still, they themselves could have written…

James squashed that line of thought. He didn't need to be thinking that stuff, especially not on is twelfth birthday. James grunted and looked down at Harry, who was staring wistfully at a group of kids who looked to be around their age.

"Why don't you go join 'em?"

Harry looked up at James. "We wouldn't exactly fit in, would we? I mean, we are rather different than them."

James nodded and shrugged. "Just act cool and play along. Act like you know what they are talking about."

"James, aren't you at all disturbed to know Voldemort is alive?"

That shocked James; he hadn't expected that question. He stared down at the bushes and thought, Wait, why the heck are they staring back!?

So shocked to see a set of bulging green eyes staring out from the bushes was James that he fell. "Wah!"

"You saw them too?" Harry queried as he jumped at the bushes, trying to see who was spying on them. "There's no one here…"

"Well, gee, my twin baby brother! Thanks for your concern," James grunted as he lifted himself from the grass, holding his right arm. He didn't know what the thing was that was staring at him through the shrubberies, but it definitely was not of the muggle world…


	14. Chapter 14: Quidditch! Part 2

Well, now… chapter 14. Quidditch part 2; aka, the sport from the eyes of James! Yeah, it isn't the best, but I wanted to try my hand at writing a sport. Sue me! No, please, please, PLEASE don't sue me… I have nothing left…

Anyway, who do you all think will win? Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw? And by the way, I'm making quidditch out to being a six-game a year deal; playing each team once sounds boring, doesn't it?

I started my creative writing class Wednesday. It was quite possibly the awesomest experience I've ever had, and my teacher super rad. She seriously has the greatest name in the world. What is it? I can't tell you. But the only thing that would be better than that class would be seeing a nun punch a shark underwater with Optimus Prime swimming nonchalantly in the background.

I started typing this chapter on a piece of Microsoft Word that had some of my drabbles on James Dean's character bio, and I was too lazy to cut, paste, and save either of these on a new document, so you all get to see into the character from the author's(me!) perspective. Yippee…

Oh, and as for the sneak peek last chapter? You're not supposed to know ALL of whats going on. Like... WHY is the four of them at Privet Drive, of ALL places? Why was Travis making Brian go to church? Why did James and Lily leave them there, when Sirius and Remus or Quincy the Butler could have handled it? These are questions you are all supposed to be asking yourself, and then saying, "Hey, I TOTALLY wanna read this new fic now! It sounds MYSTERIOUS!" Savvy?

"**Recommended" Listening**: You're Gonna Go Far, Kid

**Artist**: _The Offspring_

**Album**: _Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace_

_

* * *

_

James stood at the entrance to the quidditch pitch with a gross feeling of apprehension. According to Roger, the others had been upset that Jeremy Stretton had been replaced, and they weren't at all ready to accept a First Year, of all people, as his replacement.

"Here goes…" James muttered. He walked forward and made his way to the Ravenclaw locker rooms.

"Ah, there you are," Desmond greeted as James walked in nervously.

"'Sup," James greeted back, nervously taking a seat next to a young, pretty Asian girl who smiled at him.

"Hi," she looked him up and down anxiously.

"Yo," James nodded at her.

"I'm Cho. Cho Chang."

"Bond," James smirked, feeling confidant for the first time in days. "James Bond."

"You're a fan of Sean Connery?"

"Fan? The man's my freaking idol!"

"Ahem," Desmond coughed, glaring at them. "You two done playing footsie?"

"Footsie? I was thinking more along the lines of 'Guess Who.'"

"The band?" another one of the players asked, a beater judging by the bat between his legs.

"Exactly," James nodded with a smirk.

"I like him," the Beater announced, looking at Desmond while pointing at James.

"Can we get on with the team meeting, please?"

"Sure, Dez."

"Yes, lets," a tall, light-blonde girl agreed with a hint of annoyance.

"Good. Now, I'm going to introduce James to you all and you to him. He is going to be playing for Jeremy, at least for now.

"James, the tall, blonde girl over there in the corner is Atris."

James waved half-heartedly at her, but she merely glared at him.

"The two sods sitting in the middle of the bench there are Jason Samuels, and Duncan Inglebee," Desmond motioned to the two in the center of the locker room. "They're our Beaters."

Jason, the Beater who had the bat between his legs, nodded at him and grinned, trying to be welcoming. He had dirty blond hair and a crooked, broken nose. Duncan, a thin and average looking Fifth Year tilted his head, sizing James up.

"Our Keeper, Grant Page is the guy standing over there," Desmond pointed out the stocky, muscular Keeper. He was leaning against the wall nonchalantly, looking like he was ready to rip James apart if he looked at him wrong. Then he smiled a friendly grin that looked wholly out of place.

"Welcome to the team," he addressed with a slight lisp. He mimicked tipping a hat at James and laughed. James was reminded of a large and savage looking, but ultimately gentle teddy bear.

"And you have already gotten acquainted with Cho; she's our reserve Seeker."

It seemed like Atris did not like this little fact. Her expression went cloudy, with a high probability of _cat-fight_.

"Now, Dumbledore has given us permission to have James on the team for as long as possible-."

Jason raised his hand. "Boss?"

"Yes, Jason?"

"I think it's safe to ask, y'know, uh… why is Jeremy's replacement a First Year? I mean, his brother was good in one game, but still… Don't you think you're just trying to make him into another Harry? Are you just doing this just for the, er, _publicity_, I guess?"

Desmond was silent for a moment. He moved his jaw and leaned forward on his Nimbus 1700. "Look. I know this sounds like a gamble-"

"You're telling me," Atris muttered.

"Atris, not _now_," Desmond seethed. "I know this sounds like a gamble, but I want you to know this; me and Roger have been training him personally for the past month, and dammit, he's twice the Chaser that Jeremy is. He's a child genius, and he learned the full set of formations and passing patterns and he's a natural on the stick. He. Will. Be. Good."

James felt his chest swell slightly with pride. Desmond thought he was good? _Or maybe he is just hyping the team up_, James thought pessimistically. He deflated at the thought. _Wait, since when am I such a critic?_

"That's another question I think should be brought up," Atris suddenly attacked, leaning forward and glaring at Desmond. "What is your obsession with handing the team right off to Davies? He's just a third year, and has only played for a year yet you are just ready and willing to hand him, of all people, the reins of this team once we're gone."

Roger's pale face went beet red. James couldn't tell if it was in anger, shame, or both; his features were locked in a neutral expression.

"I think you should watch who you criticize, Atris," Desmond shot back quietly. "Need I remind you who cost us the championship last year, Miss Concussion?"

It was her turn to flush. She quaked slightly, trying to quell her anger. "Is that why _she's_ here?" Atris pointed accusingly at Cho. "To replace me when I prove too _fragile_ to play?"

"No. She's here to learn from the best Seeker Ravenclaw's had in years so that she can replace you next year. Or do you fancy yourself a muggle magician; you never want to reveal your secrets?"

"If you're questioning my-"

"I'm not questioning your team-first mentality. I'm questioning your anger. Why are you being so crass?"

Atris opened her mouth to bite back, then stopped mid reply, snapping her mouth shut. Finally, she turned her head down and said no more.

"James will help us. He will not be a hindrance. And I sure as bloody hell didn't go through putting my neck on the line with Dumbledore just to garner a little bit of publicity, _controversial_ publicity at that. He is a part of the team, and if any of you are the people I know and trust, you will come to not just accept him, you will inevitably like him. Roger is going to be referred as the captain next year because he deserves it. He is as good a Chaser as I, and an offensive genius to boot. Any more useless questions? No? Then let's get out to the pitch."

* * *

James found out quickly that quidditch players were as rough around the edges as anyone could be. The Beaters cracked lewd jokes as they high-fived each other, Grant had allergies and would blow snot-rockets in-between reps, Desmond liked to chug water and a gloppy mixed drink that was said to build muscle and renew energy, and Roger needed "special cream."

It seemed like the only two who stayed civilized were Atris and Cho. However, James wouldn't exactly say Atris was being "cultured" with Cho. She kept getting impatient with her, and even had butted her out of the way with the tail of her broom just to catch the Snitch, which in a real game would have been a foul.

James didn't pay them any attention after the Chasers started their drills. For what felt like an eternity, they went over formation after formation and passing pattern after passing pattern, all while being grilled by the Beaters. It was the toughest thing James had ever done, including Father Duke's old pee wee football practices.

James lost count how many times he was blown into an uncontrollable spiral after getting hit by a Bludger, falling of his broom, and got sent flying through the grass of the pitch. This seemed to please Duncan and Jason to no end, and they cheered every time he popped back up like it never happened.

"Oi, I think we got a keepuh," Duncan would scream to Desmond occasionally in his thick Irish accent.

"Aye, a Keeper!" Jason would toss in, throwing his bat at Grant who, being the quick-handed Keeper he was, caught the wooden club easily and would chuck it back angrily, to Jason's glee.

"Keep your damn clubzth to you-thelz!"

"Gladly," Jason would answer back suavely. "You're not our type anyway, right Dunk?"

"Aye, I ain't no knobjockey."

By the time practice had ended, James was tired beyond belief but was in the best spirits he had been in since Desmond told him he would be playing. He made quick friends with Duncan and Jason, and Grant had quickly taken him under his wing, giving him pointers on his form.

"I notithed that you wath leaning a little to the weft on that lafth thot, Potter."

"I'll keep that in mind, man."

"You better. We need a good weplathement for Jeremy."

Again, the only one who wasn't in good spirits was Atris, who stormed out of practice that night alone, Cho trying to catch up to her.

"But that Wronski Feint; how am I supposed to turn into the dive-"

"Go away!"

"But how-"

"I said go _away_!"

Cho lowered her outstretched hand and dropped her gaze to the ground. Dejected, she shuffled back to the locker rooms with a metaphorical tail in-between her legs.

"What's up with that Atris chick, anyway?" James asked Roger as they tossed their practice gear into the lockers. "She seems like she's got a…

"Stick up her arse?"

"Yeah."

Roger sighed as he unclamped his leg guards and dug his fists into his thighs. "Last year, she was the best Seeker in school. We had gone four and oh, never defeated. And then in the second to last game, bang! Derrick and Bole, the two Slytherin Beaters, double-teamed her when we were up by seventy points. She fell off her broom, broke her leg, and almost cracked her neck. The force of two bludgers slamming into her skull gave her a really bad concussion. We were given double penalty shots for the infraction, but without a Seeker... we lost that game. Higgs caught the Snitch. The next game she was back in, but she had lost her touch. We lost that last game and the Championship to Slytherin because she pulled out of a dive. People have ridiculed her for it. Called her a coward, a scaredy cat. A fool."

"Wow… and she's still… playing?"

"Yeah. She has it still, but she's all determined. Prove them all wrong, she wants. The thing that stings the most for her, I think, is that of all the people who have criticized her, Ravenclaw house has been the worst."

"Her own house?"

"She cost them a shot at glory, a chance we haven't had in over ninety years."

"Oh. Fickle are the masses?"

"Exactly," Roger stated as he closed his locker and pulled his shirt on. "C'mon, I heard that there's going to be pot roast, garlic-buttered potatoes and ice cream for dinner. Don't wanna miss out, do we?"

* * *

"Hey, Potter," Desmond called out as they both walked out of the Great Hall that night. "Can I show you something?"

"Uh… sure."

"Don't worry, I'm the Head Boy, remember? Nobody's going to question why you are out late if you're with me."

"Right," James nodded. _That's _exactly_ what I was afraid of._

Desmond led him through the corridors and up the stairs that led to the Trophy Room. He opened the door and led James in, marveling at the shiny silver and gold cups and figures in their enclosed crystal panes.

The trophy room was a large, open room with rows upon rows of awards students of a high stature had won. It was almost a full museum in the amount of showcases it held, all of them describing the history behind its contents. To James' immediate right sat a small cabinet which listed the winners of something called a Tri-Wizard tournament. A row near the back of the room held international gobstones club winners. A modest case showed academically prevalent students who went on to become very important names in magical history; Mungo Bonham, Mnemone Radford, Hambledon Quince, Jocunda Sykes, and all four of the Hogwarts founders were premiered in it. However, the majority of the Hall held quidditch history.

"Here it is," Desmond whispered.

"The trophy room" James said dully.

"The place where the great are immortalized," Desmond continued his voice small and faint with awe.

"The Big Kahuna," James agreed, bored but slightly curious about what Desmond wanted with him.

"Did you know that over ninety percent of the students at Hogwarts who played quidditch never got to hoist that trophy?" Desmond pointed at the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. "That those players never had their names placed in records?"

"What?"

"Yeah, mate. Unless you win a championship, names of players are not officially kept. They are labeled in things like yearbooks and the occasional newspaper article, but Hogwarts doesn't keep paperwork for the gloryless masses. The only ones marked as true quidditch players, are the players who won."

"That's… I don't know what that is. I mean, it sucks for all those who worked hard to just be on a team, but…" James trailed, afraid to continue.

"It's fitting that only the best of the best make it to this place."

"Yeah. So there are no records, of like… most goals scored? Most games won?"

Desmond laughed despondantely. "No." The Head Boy walked forward and looked at a row of trophies from the seventies. "Your dad is in here, y'know that?"

"He is?"

"Yep. Look here," Desmond pointed at a section that, unlike any of the others, held a great deal more memorabilia than the rest. "Played since he was a Third Year. Won the championship three times, twice as a captain. Won the scoring title three years in a row, from his fifth 'til seventh year. Holds the record for most goals scored in a career, circa modern era."

"Modern era?"

"Aye. Quidditch is a very old sport, steeped in tradition. It started out as a game with a bunch of players playing with a ball while on brooms in a marsh. It owes a lot of its popularity to its roots. Games like Stichstock and Shuntbumps were all localized games that Quidditch was derived from. The 'Ancient Era,'as recorded by a Gertie Keddle in an old diary tells how it originated. The 'Old Era' came around when a lot of the modern parts of the sport where added, like Bludgers and the like. The 'Modern Era,' Quidditch as we play it today, was started around 1269 when the Snitch was made an official part of the game, and wide-spread play flourished. Funny how a couple of blokes playing around in a marsh with a leather ball and a couple of rocks could be turned into the glorious game it is today, eh?"

"Yeah…"

"You have no idea how many times I have come into this room, and just sat here in awe, staring at the cases in this room. To be a part of something like this… it would be a dream come true. And no matter how many times I walk through these rows, I always come back to this one case, right in front of us."

"Why?"

"Because of your father. His final year, 1977," Desmond answered as he put both of his hands to the glass and rested his forehead on the glass pane, looking in at the display. "The Greatest Show on the Pitch, as called by then announcer Fiddly Farmsworth. The only undefeated team in Hogwarts history... No team has gone through a full season in Modern Era quidditch without even a single loss. But your dad… He himself was the greatest Chaser Hogwarts has ever seen. It's almost a shame he didn't go pro."

James looked in at the display, and was almost awestruck himself. The trophy, a gleaming gold with the words Gryffindor: 6-0, 1977-78 etched into its polished side. A picture sat at its base, with the players of the team posing for the picture. His father and two other Chasers (both girls) kneeled to either side of him, all grinning roguishly and confidently. The two beaters stood behind him, with a beautiful red haired girl smashed between them, looking at James brightly. At the back, on a raised platform was the Keeper, a thin, tall guy with a trace of stubble on his face.

"There's your mum, too. The seeker?"

James brought his attention back to the girl in the middle and almost jolted with shock. He knew she had played seeker, but he had momentarily forgotten. She looked so different. He had never seen her without her wheelchair, much less a picture of her without one. She looked happy, free, and… in love.

As the figures in the picture moved, she would jump onto his father's back and give him a big, sloppy kiss to his cheek, to which he would respond with gusto and just a tinge of a blush.

"I look at this and wish to God, to Merlin, to _any_ higher power that I could have that kind of glory. To be the second team in history to be undefeated... I want that so bad."

"Maybe we will this year."

"Not likely."

"And why do you think that?"

Desmond turned his back to the glass and slumped on it, sliding to the floor. He put his elbows on his knees and stared up at James. "I'm not that good."

"What?"

"My dad was a Chaser, y'know? He led Slytherin to a couple titles before going all the way to the English National team. My mum played in Hogwarts, too. They were so great; they all won championships before their seventh years. They didn't have the pressure to win one like I do."

"This is a favorable spot, then."

"Huh?"

"Dude, this should be the situation you would want to be in, _dream_ to be in."

"How's that?"

"It's do or die. The pressure is on and the only way you'll get the glory is if you put it all on the line right now. Like a quarterback in football; the ideal situation is having less than two minutes on the clock, no time outs, and you're down by four points. A field goal ain't gonna tie the game, but a touchdown'll win it all. It's do or die, go or go home. The best thing; it makes winning it all that much sweeter."

Desmond pondered James' words for a moment. "I have no idea what you were talking about, but you know… I do get what you are saying. This is my one and only shot, and winning it all this time around… the taste will be that much sweeter if we get there."

"Once we get there," James corrected, holding his hand out to Desmond. "I don't know how much time I will get to play, but I guarantee you this; every second of it will be dedicated to getting you that trophy."

* * *

While it only took one practice to get the team to warm up to James, the rest of the school was a different matter. Other first years looked at James and Harry enviously, and attributed their spots on the team to fame and rich parents. Desmond heard one Hufflepuff saying this loosely during a class break and had reamed her so bad she was seen running to her common room in tears.

While the flak from the First Years were bad, the older students were even worse. They jeered at them that they were only on the team because they were famous and that they were only there because of publicity. It was true that the Daily Prophet had made a story out of them being on the teams, but it was hardly on the front page. Nevertheless, the reception to them playing was overall bad.

James had listened to very little of the rumors, and didn't even acknowledge the people who actually confronted him on it. He merely shrugged them off and went about his business, acting like it was just another thing for him to do.

The day of the game, however, was a different story.

"James, you need to eat," Harry reprimanded, though James thought he was merely doing to him what he did to Harry.

"Shut up. I promised Desmond I would help him get the championship, but doing that is a lot harder than saying it. What if I screw all this up?"

"Remember that first game in pee wee football when we faced that team from the east side of New York?" Brian asked suddenly, giving James a stony look.

"Yeah, it was our first football game ever. We clobbered them thirty-one to three, and I threw two touchdowns."

"And ran for a third. But remember how you were before that game?"

"Yeah, I was begging Father Duke to bench me and play Tim Thompson as quarterback, but he refused."

"Remember what that little rich punk said to us before that game?"

"He called us a bunch of orphan-freaks that nobody wanted. He said we'd lose because we were worthless losers."

"You weren't nervous after that. You ran that ball fifty yards and bowled that little jerk over for that score."

"Oh yeah… I remember that! He looked so mad, and then his coach benched him for trying to start a fight."

"Yeah, well, you see Lou Ferrigno over there?" Brian asked, pointing at a tall, muscular, thick faced Hufflepuff Fifth Year with black hair and beady eyes. He was clad in a Hufflepuff uniform and had his bat hanging from his belt.

"Uh huh."

"He called Mom and Dad glory-seeking losers who were selling out their kids."

James tore into pancakes like a beast. Nobody insulted his mother. No one.

* * *

James had decided that the best course of action was to let Sweet Lou beat himself. James would put himself in a position where the brutish Hufflepuff would have no choice but to commit a foul, and reap the rewards from it. By the time Desmond had concluded his pre-game speech, he had a preliminary plan all laid out.

It turned out that the Hufflepuff captain had assigned the kid the specific task of bringing James down; that worked heavily in his favor. By the time James was out on the pitch, he had his plan officially signed and sealed in his head. He looped his leg around the borrowed Nimbus 1500 and shot in the air, lining up with the Hufflepuff Chaser he was assigned to cover.

The pitch was full of people. The top ring was lined with people in bronze and blue and black and yellow. James saw Clare standing on the northern edge of the pitch, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her friend Lyra sat in the seat next to her, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.

There was a familiar sense of déjà vu as James looked at "Lou Ferrigno." He grinned at him maliciously and James nodded at him confidently. The brute laughed and showed off a mouth missing half of its teeth*****, and sneered happily at James. He looked like a predator who thought it knew that its prey was in its grasp.

Desmond shook hands with the Hufflepuff captain and they both kicked off. Hooch threw the quaffle in the air, and the game began. Desmond caught the red ball at its peak of ascent, and tossed it to Roger. James and Roger had already flashed away from their opposition, and were flying at break-neck speed to the goalposts. Roger caught the pass one-handedly and braked, causing the two Chasers bearing on him to fly right by him. Roger turned his broom on an invisible axis throwing the quaffle to James as he sped off to get into a formation with Desmond.

James caught the quaffle. As soon as he did, the third Chaser came to get him. James, in a flash of brilliance ducked underneath the girl's outstretched arms and shot the quaffle at the goalposts. The Keeper was distracted by the chase and had been expecting the girl to strip James of the ball; the ball soared threw the center hoop.

"Potter scores! Ten to nothing, Ravenclaw!" Lee Jordan announced happily (although James suspected he would have been more ecstatic if a Gryffindor had made such a shot.)

This was part of Desmond's game plan. Use James quick and early, taking them by surprise. They would get frustrated, and start beating themselves. It had worked, too. The girl Chaser had punched her broom and then came up gripping her knuckles in pain. The Keeper had hung his head and cursed. The captain looked ready to have his jaw surgically put back on, it had dropped so far.

The game had started up again, however, and there was no time for lingering. James had shot by Grant and the two high-fived, but that was the extent of any celebration.

Ravenclaw had shot off from there. James had scored again twice before Roger shocked them all with an acrobatic spin and a throw that sent the quaffle through the hoops. Within an hour, the score was a hundred to ten, and the Hufflepuffs starting getting desperate. James had baited the Beater into fouling him a whole five times, which led to five penalty shots. Desmond, taking the penalty shots for the team, made all but one of them.

Then the unthinkable happened. Desmond got hit in the face by a bludger and was sent flying. He hit the grass and didn't get up while his broom careened off the side of the pitch and tumbled to the ground halfway down the field. The burly Beater leaned off his broom and looked down at Desmond's body and grinned his gap-toothed smile. James and Roger shot a glance to each other and James shrugged. Roger took the penalty shot, but they were screwed. Roger called a timeout. Hooch acknowledged it and paused the game.

"Dude, Desmond!" James urged when he landed next to him. "Wake up, bro!"

"He's out," Duncan grunted. "Jase, help me get him off the field."

The two Beaters carried Desmond off the field and the game went back underway without him.

"It's up to us," Roger stated to James, trying to sound strong. "We can still win this, with or without Dez."

It wasn't the case. Within the next half hour the Hufflepuffs outscored Ravenclaw two to one, and were well within being able to claim the lead for the first time. And then Roger, as acting Captain, called another time out. The score was one-hundred thirty to seventy.

"Mates, I think we got a little problem…"

"You think?"

"Look, there's no sign of the Snitch, and they're killing us. Now's not the time to get sarcastic. We need to…"

"Go West Coast?"

"What? We can't take a vacation now!" Jason screamed. "We're playing a game!"

"No, I… ugh. How about we start playing a little more loosely?"

"Loosely?"

"Yeah. Cut the formations. Just get open and score."

"That's stupid,"Duncan scoffed.

"You're off your rocker!" Atris cried.

"Off the rocker enough that it may just work… let's do it."

"I agree."

"Me too."

"Let's do this."

"If Desmond saw this he'd be killing us…"

"Hey, we're just getting back to our fundamentals."

"Right…"

* * *

"What on Earth are they _doing_?"

"No idea."

"They look kinda like a swarm of bees having a mutual aneurysm."

"Ha ha, look at Potter!"

"Is he riding his broom like a skateboard?"

"What's a skateboard?"

"Oh, never mind."

"Hey, Atris is going after the Snitch?"

"You're posing that as a question?"

"Who's Atris?"

"An original character?"

"_What_?"

"Uh… I mean… Hey, you guys wanna head back to the commons and grab a couple shots of Ogden's? Me mum and dad smuggled me some."

"Yeah!"

"Blimey, mate, I was wondering when you'd ask! Quidditch is so boring!"

Angelina Johnson watched as the three Sixth Year Gryffindors in front of her all tore out of their seats and all but ran back to the Tower. She turned to Katie Bell and whispered indignantly, "_Men_."

* * *

It turned out that going off in random directions and just getting open worked. Roger began scoring like mad, always getting open to catch James' passes. Jason and Duncan were living up to their titles, Beating the Hufflepuff Chasers with not-so-reckless abandon, while even taking a few shots at Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Seeker.

With Roger orchestrating a wild and loose offense that scored by virtue of random flying alone, Atris had been high above the pitch, her cold, ice-blue eyes keenly watching for a sliver of streaking gold. Cedric Diggory, being a first time player had followed a new player mentality of following the wily veteran; it annoyed her as much as Cho Chang did.

She circled above the dogfight below her with a little speed, trying to break off the emotions she was feeling; frustration had no place on the pitch. Quidditch was a game where cooler minds prevailed, regardless of what Marcus Flint had to say about it.

She was just about to try to fool around with Diggory, make him lose her in the melee below when she saw a flicker of gold shoot past Potter's face; he had thrown his head back just in time to not get slammed in the face by the streaking ball.

Naturally, Atris ignored her teammate's surprise and dove, Cedric hot on her trail.

James saw Atris make her dive, and nodded at Roger. Roger looked at the scoreboard, which read in bright clarity:

**Ravenclaw: 210**

**Hufflepuff: 80**

Ravenclaw was twenty points from tying the game, if Diggory caught the Snitch. Roger gave James a look that screamed, "Atris is not going to catch it." The two got into something akin to a formation, Duncan and Jason lining up above and below of them. Roger waved them off to attack Diggory, and pointed James to one of the Hufflepuff Chasers who had the quaffle.

"Shoot like crazy!"

And shoot they did. James intercepted the girl's pass and had flown loop-de-loops around the Beaters and faked shooting the goal before passing off to Roger, who tucked the ball into the right hoop.

James and Roger then flew off and just as quickly got the ball back, and again, scored. The Hufflepuffs were tired and downtrodden by the fact that they outnumbered the Ravenclaws and were still getting their brooms handed to them, while the Ravenclaws were wired from the fact that the endgame was at hand.

James knew that the end was near, and that scoring one more goal would give them the game, even if Diggory caught the Snitch. So when Roger stripped the Hufflepuff Captain of the quaffle and threw it to James, he caught the ball with soft hands and flew off towards the goal posts.

However, the brutish Beater who reminded James of the old Hulk, Lou Ferigno, was once again in his way. The clubbed madman had a look of fury on his face, and was ready to bury James into the pitch grass, quaffle and all. The hulk swatted a Bludger at James and grinned when he connected with the heavy ball. James had a choice; get hit by the bludger and pray he even survived the hit, or pull off of his trajectory, plausibly costing Ravenclaw the win. James chose neither.

He leaped from his broom, high over the path of the hurtling boulder of a ball. The Bludger seemed to have a life of its own, however, and had followed him. Just as he was about to get hit, a fast-flying form clad in blue and bronze robes shot down in front of James from above and had taken the hit for him. Surprised, James didn't throw the quaffle. He jumped off of the falling boy's back again, and was propelled over the bulky Beater. So surprised was the Keeper that he failed to block this one last shot; it went in decisively.

Just as it did, however, Lee Jordan's voice echoed across the pitch. "He caught it! Diggory caught the Snitch!"

James didn't care; he was fifty feet above the green grass of the pitch and falling, falling…

"Gotcha!" Duncan hollered, as he and Jason each grabbed James by an arm and flew him down to the ground.

"You did it, mate! You won the game!" Jason roared, hugging James so tight he feared his ribs would crack.

"But the Hufflepuff Seeker, he caught the-"

"You scored before he caught it! Look!"

"James looked up at the scoreboard.

**Ravenclaw: 240**

**Hufflepuff: 230**

"You did it, mate! You won us the game!"

* * *

_"Must everything be a joke with you, Potter?"_

"_Life is a joke and the world is center stage. Some jokes make you smile, some make you cry, but you can bet I'll crack every single one of them."_

_-_James Dean Potter to a Gryffindor girl, September of 1993

**1. James Dean Potter**

**-Alias: James Potter, Jr., James Potter II, Jimmy Dean(to most), Jammie (Lily Evans-Potter), Mouse(Draco Malfoy/Slytherins), Boston(Ravenclaw Quidditch team, based off of his love for the baseball team, the Boston Red Sox), Little Red(Bill Weasley)**

**_Real world influences_**_ -_ James Dean, Shimon Moore, Chris Pine(Captain Kirk)

**Theme Song**- Troublemaker, Weezer- The Red Album

**Favorite Sports Teams:** New York Jets(NFL), Boston Red Sox(MLB), London Irish(Rugby-yeah, he likes to watch Rugby...), Appleby Arrows(Quidditch), Sweetwater All-Stars(Quidditch, USA)

**_Physical_**- Mousy, Red haired, Green eyes, about 4"9', 90 lbs. as a First Year

**_Wand_**- 11 inches, Yew wood carved with Celtic "Tree of Life" designs, braided sphinx mane core

**Patronus**: Red-tailed hawk

**Born**- St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, 31 July, 1980, London, England

**Bio**- James was born into a time of great despair. The Wizarding War was raging not as a typical war would, but as a fast-moving, silently killing plague. Voldemort had tried three times to kill his and his twin brother, Harry's parents and three times he had failed. However, on the night of Halloween a year after both were born, the Dark Lord had finally gotten wind of their hiding place. Without any knowledge of an ancestral Potter's old magic, Voldemort tried and failed to kill the Potter's, resulting in his historic disappearance.

This victory did not come without price. Unconscious and presumed dead, James Dean's parents could do nothing as an American nun carried their child away under the assumption that they were deceased.

Thus, James was raised as an orphan at a Catholic priory in New York, a church called St. Bernadette's. Here, he made quick and lasting friends in Travis Barker and Brian Gates, two other "freaks" in the orphanage. James made a name for himself to the sisters and the priesthood as a troublemaker and prankster, but also as an extremely intelligent and knowledge hungry boy. He had often come to the church library and learned how to read at an early age. His thirst for knowledge did not, unfortunately, outweigh his desire for a fun time.

He and his best friends, whom he had come to know as brothers, would often sneak out of the orphanage and run out into the streets of New York City. They had quickly gotten smart for the street and befriended many street riffraff like gangsters and hookers, cops and even a local pizza maker, who often gave them free food. They had a big network of people they could rely on.

On Travis' eighth birthday, James' mother and father had finally, after years of searching, found him and came to reclaim him. That same day, a group of Death Eaters also tried to kidnap him, which resulted in a skirmish that all but leveled the orphanage. Impressed by James and his two friends, James Sr. and Lily decided to adopt all three of them.

"'_Destined for greatness,' Albus?" McGonagall scoffed. "The boy's only ambition is to become the greatest genius-level repeat offender in Hogwarts history!"_

"_I think you greatly underscore the amount of intelligent troublemakers of our school, Minerva," Albus replied back, eyes twinkling."Need you be reminded of the Weasley twins? Or the Marauders?"_

"_He _does_ have a very compassionate heart, Professor McGonagall," Flitwick reprimanded._

_-_Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Filius Flitwick on James Dean Potter

**What Makes James Tick**- James is a clever and observant boy. He is quick-tongued and intelligent enough to use a level of maturity unparalleled to others his age. This maturity and his ability to use logic and a keen common sense stems from his life in New York, where one had to be a fast thinker, have a faster mouth, and be the fastest runner. He is very kind and compassionate to the weak, and can be very harsh to those who suppress them. He likes to pull pranks, not for the reaction people make, but because he knows how to get away with them, and enjoys doing so. However, he never plans a prank on someone who he knows would be angered or offended by it, nor does he pull one on those he feels doesn't deserve it. He is a born optimist and can crack a joke about almost anything, although he usually knows when to keep his mouth shut. James has an odd sense of humor and can make light out of everything.

James mirrors his father, but unlike James Sr., who was popular and arrogant, James is often very quiet in his confidence. He cracks chauvinistic jokes every once in a while, but never lets on that it may be a little more serious. He doesn't bully fellow students, but he does push around bullies themselves, such as Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. In fact, they are often the target of his many pranks. James is akin to making chaos, and is the only student other than the Weasley twins who has an allegiance with Peeves, albeit a flimsy one at best.

"_You don't want to change the world, Riddle. You just want to leave it colder. And for that, I will never forgive you… nor pity your choice. Only cowards fear death, and cowards never die on their own terms!"_

"_Madame Pomfrey gave me something... now my mouth tastes like purple."_

"_Is it just me, or do these 'Death Eaters' sound like a bunch of friggin' Nazis?"_

"_I don't care what anyone has to say to the contrary- Snape may be a dreadful, evil, plot-happy puppy, but he. Is. Bada_ss_."_


	15. Chapter 15: The Mirror That Shows Desire

This chapter is pretty big, not wordwise, but content wise. Harry and James solidify themselves as brothers, alike in mannerisms but worlds apart in context. There is also many references to things to come, not necessarily in this specific fic but in stories to come.

I'd like to take a few seconds to shout out to Sliver Sailor Ganymede, who never answers my review replies but is still awesome to continue reviewing. You rock, dude. Seriously. I reviewed your latest fic, and will likely to do so more in the future. You rock!

**Recommended Listening**: Time to Go

**Artist**: Dropkick Murphys

**Album**: Blackout

Haha, this should be obvious. "Time to Go" is the song Desmond and the other Ravenclaws sing in this chapter, only its been Quidditch-ified.

* * *

"_Go! Go! Bronze and blue_!" Ravenclaws shouted endlessly for hours after the game. Whereas he had first been almost an outcast from the rest of the House in the last week, James had quickly improved his status and wasn't left alone for it.

Samhain al-Fulani and Penelope Clearwater treated him like he was their best friend, while many of the other younger students all fawned over him, as if their scorns never happened. Older students would randomly walk up to him and start talking to him about the game; these were mostly one sided conversations that had James nodding his head and saying "Yes," in a bored tone.

"_Old-time quidditch, bar the door, clear the pitch, it's an all-out war_!" Many of the seventh years chanted, a bruised and half delirious Desmond among them, with his arms wrapped around two girls in his year and a half finished butterbeer in his left hand. "Pop the Snitch and throw a hit, Bronze and blue never quits! The stands are full, our team's in town, so put 'em up boys, knock 'em down! Drop the quaffle, Hooch, it's time to go! With the Eagles at the front, it'll come to blows!"

"Hey, Desmond is taking this well, huh?" Travis asked as he sat down next to James as soon as he had escaped the clamors of some Fourth Year girls who had all but fought over him. "You've taken your first step to getting him his championship."

"Yeah, can we check off 'Dramatic and explosive close call win' off the list of things to do this season?" Brian asked, chipping James with an elbow.

"Nah, I wouldn't. Gryffindor is gonna be tough."

"Bah, by the time Worthwright replaces that Atris girl with Chang, nobody's gonna be able to beat us!" Samhain hollered as he sauntered up, clapping James on the back. "Great flying, Potter!"

Atris heard Sam's comment. She sneered at James, who caught her eye at the last second, and whisked away with a stride, out of the common room.

"Hey, guys, I'll be back."

"Where you going?"

"Uh… business about Mrs. Norris. Gotta meet with Fred."

"We'll come with!"

"Sorry, but no. This is… er, a surprise."

Despite their sad looks, James clambered down the front door of the common room and took off, looking for Atris. He saw her tall, lithe form sashaying down the hall. He went to call out to her, when-

"Oh, uh… hi James."

Emma Kennedy had been sitting on a window sill, her knees tucked to her chest. She turned her blue-eyed gaze from the door to James, looking on the verge of tears. James could tell that they were a mixture of anger, frustration, and sadness. But why was she always so… sad all the time?

"Hey, Emma. What's up?"

"I uh," she started, looking embarrassed. "I couldn't solve the riddle to open the door."

"Oh. Well, what was the riddle?"

"'There's an ancient invention that is still used today to see through walls. What is it?'"

"Um, Emma…"

The girl looked at James a little hurt. "I know it is simple! I just can't figure it out, okay! This natty door is just so- So…"

"Frustrating?"

"Yes."

"Want the answer?"

"I'll figure it out, thanks."

"You want a hint?"

"A hint would help the girl out," the Eagle Knocker stated monotonously.

"Shut ye' trap, ye clatty bird!"

"Well, you are sitting on it."

"Sitting on it? How's that supposed to help me out?"

"Think about it. Anyway, I gotta go, I'll… see you around?"

"Get going."

"Okay…"

* * *

Kiara watched James as he retreated down the corridor. His short form quickly became a dot and the last thing she saw of him was his dark, shaggy red hair.

"Great flying today, mate," she muttered to his disappearing red hair.

The boy had opened himself to her, even offered friendship to her, but Kiara had repeatedly screwed it up. She called him a foolish Yankee, avoided him at all costs, and didn't even thank him when he saved her life. She, it seemed, was destined to be like her father; cold and alone.

It wasn't like he had anything for her; he was just nice to her because he occasionally ran into her. He never saw her when he walked down the corridors, or in the common room. He hadn't even seen her when he left until she opened her big mouth.

She sighed. It seemed like the only time anyone noticed her was when she needed to be saved. Not exactly the best thing to base a friendship on, where the only interaction that happened was during life-or-death situations.

She didn't need him as a friend anyway. If her father knew that she had been saved by him more than once… she cringed at the thought.

She snarled quietly and stood up. She kicked the wall and looked out of the window. "What age-old invention allows people to see through walls…?"

"Is it really that hard?" the Knocker asked, and Kiara could have sworn that despite its bored, neutral tone, it sounded indignant.

"Shut up!"

"Very well…"

Kiara rested her head on the window. "What was I sitting on? The window? How the bloody hell does that help? Wait. I was sitting on the window sill…"

"And she almost has it."

"Silence, you. I was sitting on… a window."

"That is correct."

"I know its correct! But that doesn't exactly answer my-"

"Yes?"

"My answer is window."

"Is that your-"

"Don't play games with me, ye clatty bird! Open the door!"

* * *

"Atris!"

The tall, blonde girl turned on her heel and stared daggers at James. "Well, if it isn't Ravenclaw's newest hero, Jimmy Potter."

"Don't call me Jim. It makes me sound old." Atris looked down her nose at James, her glare showing nothing but contempt. "Look, about what they all were saying-"

"Spare me your pity party, Potter. I need it not right now."

"'You need it not?' What, did we just get sucked into the eighteenth century or something?"

"If you are trying to _help_, being crass about how us British folk talk isn't going to do the trick."

James cocked his head and grinned. "But I findt self-deprecating humor to be the best way to help."

"'Self-deprecating?' You're as British as I'm American, Potter."

"Excuse me? I was born British, and I am-"

"You're what? You talk like a Yank, walk like a Yank, act like a Yank-"

"What is it with people at this school and hating America? You are like, the third person to pick on me for growing up there."

Atris sneered. "Americans are uncultured beasts."

"Apparently, so is Desmond. He looked pretty trashed."

"Desmond knows better than to-"

"Look, I'm not here for an argument on a difference of culture. I'm here to help a teammate, a House mate, and a fellow student. What is wrong?"

"What's wrong is that I have played for this team for five years and I slip up for a few games and all of a sudden I'm a terrible person. I'm a joke to my own House. And you, a First Year, keeping me out of the frying pan, makes me look worse."

"Team first, naysayers never. That's what my dad always said. Besides, it's just a game, why get so-"

"IT IS NOT JUST A GAME, POTTER! Not everyone has rich and powerful parents like you! Whether you like it or not, quidditch is the only thing I know!" Atris' face went from pale porcelain to flushed red in seconds. She went from looking like a composed, slightly haughty girl to an almost savage beast instantly. "I have to make quidditch work, or I'll be working at the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of my life!"

James stared at Atris for a whole moment. There was a look of desperation etched across her face. She looked tired, desperate, angry and… sorrowful?

"I have to make this work or I'm doomed. Doomed, Potter. Doomed to a life of failure."

* * *

The following weeks went rather fast. Between games, practice, schoolwork, and the ever elusive "Mrs. Norris Project" that James and Fred had determined was for themselves only, James and Harry had very busy schedules. James was excited about the coming Christmas, as the Metallica concert was coming up and he never wanted school to end as badly as he did then.

The school had gotten cold and was more than a little drafty, but the common rooms were warmed by blazing fires and the lively banter that came with being a well-liked quidditch player. Most people held the players in high regard, and were always friendly to their House's teams.

James was made a permanent player, and all of Ravenclaw agreed. His second game, against Slytherin, solidified it. He had made Warrington and Flint look like fools, and he didn't even play as well as Roger or Desmond; they had scored twenty goals apiece or more before Atris caught the Snitch right out from beneath Terrence Higgs' nose. Harry had a similar game against Hufflepuff. He caught the Snitch in the first five minutes of the game, making Cedric Diggory look like an idiot. James cackled evilly about it for hours afterwards. He had grown a certain distaste for Hufflepuff that he couldn't really put his finger on.

The "Mrs. Norris Project" had come along nicely, and no matter how much George, Travis, Brian, or Lee prodded, they wouldn't reveal what they had in store for the feline other than that it was going to be hilarious. All in all, James was in an extremely happy mood come the last week before the Christmas break.

"So, how many more days till we get out?" Brian asked over a mouthful of eggs one morning.

"Five. And quit yakking with your mouth full!"

"Hey, guys, isn't that Dad's owl?" James quickly interrupted, breaking off Travis and Brian's scuffle with a pointing finger. The gray colored owl swooped down and landed on James' plate. "Hey, you stupid bird, get off my pancakes!"

The owl hooted disdainfully and held out its leg. James tore the package open and found a letter from his father and a newspaper article.

"_Dear James, Brian, and Travis:_

_I'm sorry I haven't written lately. Work has been hectic, and Uncle Sirius ("Hey, boys!" Sirius had written into the margin, obviously against their Father's will) hasn't been helpful. I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but that concert has been cancelled. I sent the article with this package so you'd believe me, and I hate to have to put you three through this. I know how you three love Metallica, but I'll make up this up to you three, I promise._

_Anyway, your mother says congrats on both you and Harry going two and oh in your quidditch games! She is all proud of Harry for following in her footsteps, but Chasers always do it better! That's my boy!_

_Do me a favor and not let Harry read that part, will you?_

_I have some more bad news. You four are going to have to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas break. Things at work are getting bad, and your mother has a ton of work she has to do at Mungo's, and then there is some crafty business with your esteemed aunt and uncle. You know I can't talk about work, so don't even try asking. The way you three work, you'll probably find out anyway…_

_I'm sorry we won't get to see you this Christmas. I promise I'll make it up to you as soon as you get back over Easter, I swear. Love, Dad."_

"_Dear Harry-"_

James stopped reading.

"Dude…" Brian whimpered, as he read the article. "The concert got cancelled. And we don't get to go home…"

James stood and stormed off.

"Where you goin', Jimmy Dean?"

"Flitwick's office. Gotta sign that list of people staying at Hogwarts."

"Think he's pissed?"

"Oh, yeah, dude. Totally"

* * *

Christmas day dawned early and gray for James. He sat up in bed and rubbed his face, tossing his blanket, sheets, and presents away from his feet. A few decoratively wrapped packages clattered to the floor.

"Gnuh?" Brian face shot out from behind the curtains of his bed, eyes half open.

"Wake up," James ordered briskly. "And open your presents quickly. We got work to do today."

"Where you goin'?"

"Shower."

"You not open present now?"

"Think about what you just said, and how you asked it, and ask me again when you wake up."

"Dude…" Brian groaned, retreating to the darkness of his bed and with a muffled thump, he fell asleep.

"Oversleeping idiot," James muttered as he walked into the showers. He was in and out in ten minutes and dressed for breakfast by the time the others woke up. He was not exactly happy with his parents. "Work my eye… they just want time to-"

"You're up early," Travis said tiredly as he opened up his presents. "Sorry, what where you saying?"

"Nothing."

"Right," Travis replied neutrally, holding up the box from James. "What's this?"

"Just open it."

"Gladly," Travis said gleefully as he ripped the haphazardly wrapped box open and pulled out… another box. "Dude? If this is a box in a box in a box, you're going to be one dead midget."

"I'm not a midget, you're just freakishly tall. And it's not, so bloody open it already."

Travis pointed an accusing finger at James. "Quit talking like Harry."

"Open it already!"

"Alright, alright…" Travis held his hands up in defense. He opened the box and almost dropped it when he saw what was inside of it. "Dude!"

Travis pulled out a baseball, the white leather yellowed with age and slightly cracked, with a loopy _Babe Ruth, 1918 WS_ penned around the stitches.

"Dude!"

James smiled for the first time in ages. "That's from me and Dad."

"Dude!"

"What's going on?" Brian asked as he walked down from the showers, toweling his hair. "Trav, did you just wake up? I already opened my presents. What did Jimmy Dean get-" Brian's eyes fell to the ball, and its signature. "Dude!"

"Dude!"

"You two can seriously stop that now…"

"Dude!" they chorused, staring at the ball in awe.

"It's a piece of history," Brian breathed. "The greatest Boston Red Sox player in the history of the world…"

"Dude!" Travis exclaimed tearfully. "The Curse of the Great Bambino is right here… in my hands…"

"How did you get this, Jimmy Dean?"

James shrugged. "Dad found it. I told him all about Babe Ruth last Christmas, and how Travis adored the guy. So he said he'd file it away. And then he sent me a letter about the ball, so… yeah."

"Dude, I friggin love you, man."

"Love you too, bro."

"How come you ain't opening yours?"

"Dunno."

Travis stood up and grabbed a long package that had a tag that wrote From Uncle Padfoot on it, and tossed it at James. "You know Uncle Sirius always has great presents for us."

James looked down at the package. It looked like a broom, wrapped in tastefully wrinkled green paper covered in drawn hollies and random mistletoe. James shredded the paper and gasped almost as loud as Travis did with his baseball.

Inside the paper was a fresh, new, wholly _unreleased_ Nimbus Two-Thousand and One.

* * *

"Nimbus Two-Thousand One?" Fred asked incredulously. "The Two-Thousands haven't even been out five months!"

They were out at the pitch, which was empty. Fred and George were both in blue, hand-knitted sweaters that had the first letters of their names on the front. Harry had gotten one from the Weasley matron, as had Brian and Travis. James didn't know if he did or not; as soon he got over drooling over the ebony polished handle of the broom he had torn down to the pitch like a madman.

"I know! But Uncle Sirius knows the owner of the Nimbus Racing Company personally, and got him to release a 'working prototype.' Isn't it awesome?"

"Yeah, it is," George agreed, running his hands down the smooth, shiny black handle. "Can I try it out?"

"Not until I have," James grinned possessively. He snatched the broom and jumped on it like it was a skateboard and flew off over the Slytherin pitch tower. The emerald and silver flags and fabrics adorning the tall wooden structure fluttered in the cold wind, sending a sweet flapping noise to his ears. The cold bit into his heavy coat and jeans, and tried to assault his face through the thick cotton mask he had over his nose and mouth. He adjusted himself so that he was leaning on the broom properly, one foot on the chrome foot rest, the other dangling lazily. "I can't believe Dumbledore is letting me keep this as a First Year," he muttered.

With that, he shot off. He pulled off maneuvers and twists and twirls that Desmond's Nimbus 1500 couldn't even think about trying. It was easily twice as fast, and despite how fast it went, it had an incredible turn rate.

"_The first thing to know about flying_," Hooch had told them at their second flying lesson. "_Is that the faster you go the less maneuverable you become. This is because the faster you go, the more air you have funneling around you, which drastically hinders your turn speed."_

The 2001 did not have a problem with that at all.

James had accelerated from zero to a hundred miles an hour in less than three seconds, and could still turn almost on a dime. He came down just in time for Harry and Ron to come running out onto the pitch, Hermione, Brian and Travis not far behind.

"Well?" Harry asked, excited. "How is it?"

"Amazing," James answered. "It's the most beautiful thing I have ever owned!"

"Mate…" Ron breathed, staring at the broom enviously. "Those weren't even supposed to come out until August next year!"

"I know, but Sirius knows people. He got it for me."

"Can I try it out?" Harry asked, holding up his own Nimbus. "We can compare."

"Sure," James chirped (wholly unlike him) and yanked the 2000 out of Harry's grasp.

The two of them flew off, in formation. Harry tried out the broom much like James, before he waved him over.

"Now that we're alone… remember Dad telling us about that Invisibility cloak, and that he lost it?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"I got it back."

* * *

James read the note and read it again for good measure. "So it belonged to Dad… and whoever Mr. Loopy Handwriting is, he gave it to you? This sounds fishy, Harry."

"Yeah, but… you know Dad talked about this all the time and it matches the description."

"I've read about the invisibility cloak, bro. There could be hundreds of these in the world."

"But they all fade with time, don't they? Become useless? This one has been gone for years, and has been passed down for generations. I think this is the real one."

James leaned back into the couch. He stared into the Gryffindor Common room's fireplace as it crackled merrily. This one _did_ match their father's description, but…

"Dad said he lost it. He doesn't remember when he did. According to this note, he gave it to, to… _whoever_ this guy is. It sounds suspicious."

Harry looked downcast, but gripped the silvery mass of cloth in his hands tightly. "Well, there's only one way to find out if it's a setup, isn't there?"

"Use it?"

"Exactly."

James bored his eyes into Harry's, looking for any hint of hesitance. There was none. "Alright, but we tell no one. Nobody can know that this exists, much less that we own it. Not Fred and George, not any professor, not even Mom or Dad. Clear?"

"Crystal," Harry answered jubilantly. "Let's go-"

"Not now, bro. What do you say we meet tonight?"

Harry stopped and stared at James with a hint of wariness."After hours?"

"You got a problem with that?"

Harry grinned mischeiviously. "Not at all."

* * *

"Okay, pass me some of the rat spleens," Fred instructed later that night. "And some of the tuna."

James handed the twin the ingredients, and sat back against the wall. Moaning Myrtle popped her head out from her toilet and looked at him suspiciously. He stuck his tongue out at her, and she sobbed her way back into the S-bend of her toilet.

"How did you come across this piece of lovely real estate, Fred?"

"Hm?" Fred asked, popping his head out of his "trouble cauldron" and looking at James through a pair of goggles. "Oh, Myrtle's bathroom? Katie Bell mentioned it to me back in first year, we've been using it ever since for our experimental stuff. You have that catnip?"

"Yeah," James answered, handing him the bag of bruised flowers and leaves. "So this place is completely abandoned?"

"Well, a girl may come in here if they have to drain their beaker really bad, but they usually keep it in, because of her," Fred motioned his head to the sobbing toilet. "She does a good job of keeping the girls away by reputation alone."

"Huh," James grunted as he doodled around on a notepad. The words **KitteeKrak** were imposed in bubble letters, and a couple of oddly cartoonized cats rolling around the letters covered the page. He started filling in the bubbles with a light hatching pattern, and looked up. "Almost done?"

"Just a-boot," Fred answered, holding up a ladle of the oily, slightly viscous fluid. It reeked of fish and half-rotten meat. "Wanna try some?"

"No, thanks."

"Too bad. Though I suppose it wouldn't work on a mouse, though, would it?"

"Shut up!" James scolded, playfully tossing the notepad at Fred, who caught it.

"What's this? KitteeKrak? Is that what our concoction's called, now?"

"Well, it does take the euphoric properties of catnip and enhances them, just like a narcotic. Why not?"

Fred looked down at the picture and grinned whimsically. "Hey, you mind if I keep this, mate?"

"Go ahead. Well, is it done? Is it ready for a test run with our favorite cat we all love to hate?"

"We can do it right now, if you want."

James shook his head and looked down at his watch. "Nah, I gotta go meet- crap, I'm an hour late! We'll go through with this the day term starts, aight?"

"Sounds good, mate. G'night."

"Night."

James sprinted towards the Ravenclaw common room door. As soon as he got there, he whispered, "Harry?"

No answer. Harry had been stood up.

* * *

The next morning Harry sat next to James at the Ravenclaw table. James started to apologize about the night before, but Harry cut him off.

"Nevermind that, I have to show you something tonight. It's big."

"Big?"

"Really big."

So come ten o'clock, James and Ron were wrapped under the Invisibility Cloak, being led by Harry as he went to a room on the fifth floor in a deserted corridor.

"Here it is," he whispered, easing the door open. James walked in and almost laughed aloud, Ron not very far away from doing the same.

"It's… a mirror, Harry."

The mirror was tall and wide, reaching to the ceiling and taking up more than half the classroom. It was dusty and slightly scratched, and had "_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi" _inscribed across. It was framed in gold that looked like it needed a good polish.

"This is big," Harry promised.

"Yeah, it is pretty big," Ron chortled. "It is almost up to the ceiling."

Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed Ron by the shoulders. "Look!"

Ron gasped. He stood by the mirror, dumbstruck.

"What's a matter, Ron? Got a leech from potions on your face?"

"What do you see?" Harry pressed. "Do you see my mum? My dad?"

"No," Ron answered, awestruck. "I see me…"

"There's a revelation," James snorted.

"I'm holding the House Cup! And I'm Head Boy! And Quidditch Captain! And, and… Everyone looks really proud of me!"

James looked around himself, squinting. Then he jumped around on his heels, hoping to God no one was behind him ready to scream "Surprise!

"But we're the only ones here."

"I know! This is so weird…"

"Here, let James look."

Harry guided James up to the mirror, and looked at him expectantly. James looked closely at the mirror and didn't see anything but himself. He looked it up and down, but he could only see himself…

"Well? Do you see Mum, standing and without a wheelchair? Dad? Or grandma and grandpa?"

"I don't even know what my grandma and grandpa look like!"

"What!? Mum has shown you-"

"You know I don't pay attention to anything Mom shows me. What am I supposed to see but myself?"

"You mean… you don't see… anything?"

"I see myself," James chided, getting down on his knees and tapping the mirror with his nail, making a dink-dink-dink. "Nope, nothing but me," James continued. Then he started, and gasped. "Wait…"

"You see something?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Yes, I see something!" James exploded, grasping his hair as if to tear it out. "This hair makes me look like Jon Bon Jovi! Yick!"

Harry stared slack jawed at his twin. "You… you're not taking me seriously."

"I believe you're seeing something, bro. I just think you need some psychiatric help if you're seeing ghosts in the mirror, especially if they remind you of Mom and Dad."

"Shut up!"

"Hey, what is this supposed to mean?" Ron asked, pointing at the inscription. James stood and looked at it. He ran his fingers across it and bit his lip.

"Dunno…" he trailed off as he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, along with a pen.

"What's that?" Ron asked, pointing at the ball point.

"A pen…?"

"Is that muggle magic?"

"Muggle, yes. Magic? Not as much." James scribbled the words down and then started to look at them. "There seems to be something familiar about them. Like I should be able to understand it, but I can't."

Harry and Ron ignored him. They had taken to studying the mirror more, looking at it in wonder. James walked to the back of the room and sat in the corner, cross legged. He began to stare thoughtfully at it, when he saw in his mind's eye the word "Erised" reverse.

"Desire?"

Leaning forward suddenly, he slammed the paper to the ground and began writing the rest of the words backwards. "Ishow no tyo urfac ebu tyo urhe arts desire," he muttered. "Something cannot be right…"

"I show not your face, but your heart's desire!" he screamed suddenly, rocking Harry and Ron from their reverie. "It shows you what you want most!"

* * *

The next day, Ron had decided that the mirror was dangerous. He couldn't stop thinking about what he had seen, and urged them not to go back.

But, Hary and James, being Harry and James, told him they wouldn't and actually did.

There were too many questions James had about the mirror. Why did Harry see his family, and Ron see glory, when James couldn't see anything? Why was something like that even at Hogwarts? Why did its maker write the inscription in a code?

So, the following night, Harry and James found themselves kneeling in front of the teasing mirror, Harry with his hand on the glass in admiration, James poking it with his finger in investigation.

"Why can't I see anything?"

"Dunno," Harry slurred in answer, gazing dreamily at the mirror. He looked torn between extreme happiness and utter despair. Their grandparents were right there, in the mirror, so close he could touch them. But they weren't actually there. James noted this on his notepad. He had brought it so he could jot down notes on the mirror to reference later, and possibly help in researching what the mirror really was.

They had only been there a whole ten minutes when a kind, mystical sounding voice called to them "So back again, James? Harry?"

James froze on the spot and looked at the mirror. "Harry, did grandpa just talk to us?" And then he saw the tall, thin, and at that moment imposing figure of Albus Dumbledore.

"No, but I think he did," Harry answered between gulping in fear.

"So sorry, Professor," James stammered, grabbing his notepad and Harry as he stood up. "We didn't-"

Dumbledore waved his hands in nonchalance. "Not a matter, James, not a matter. "Though I must say, how nearsighted we all come when we become invisible."

"Indeed, sir," James answered, playing along. If it meant not getting in trouble, why not say you were an ignorant idiot?

"No need to agree with everything I say, James. You are not, indeed, a fool. You only got caught because I knew you two would come to find this wonderfully dreadful piece of magic."

"Right, er… sir."

"So, you two, like hundreds before you, have found the delights offered by the Mirror of Erised."

"I guess," Harry replied, holding his gaze to his feet. "Well, not exactly… I didn't even know that was what it was called."

"Oh?" Dumbledore asked inquisitively, looking down his crooked nose at them with twinkling eyes.

"Well, James hasn't really…"

"What do you mean?"

"James doesn't see anything," James answered in third person. "He only sees himself, as he is."

Dumbledore chuckled at James' brand of sarcastic, annoyed humor. "You do not see… anything?"

"Nope. Zero. Zilch, nada… you get the picture."

Dumbledore gazed at James thoughtfully, as if he had grown another head and that it hadn't surprised him, but rather made him want to study it. "And you, Harry, see your family, as your friend Ron Weasely sees himself as a Head Boy."

"How-"

"It doesn't require an Invisibility Cloak to make me disappear."

"You were spying on us," James stated simply.

Dumbledore gave James a "studying" look again. "In essence, I guess I was."

"What gave you the right?" James demanded softly. "I'm glad you ain't busting us and all, but still. We have rights."

Dumbledore changed the subject, walking towards the mirror and looking at it. James couldn't exactly tell if the old man was looking at it longingly or sorrowfully, but judging by the sudden slump in Dumbledore's shoulders, he guessed the latter. "Do you two even realize what this Mirror is capable of?"

"Not really," Harry answered honestly.

"It shows people something they want," James replied not a second after Harry, holding up his notes. "_'I show not your face, but your heart's desire,_' it's the inscription on the top, only backwards."

"Yes, indeed," the Headmaster agreed, turning his face to look at James. "Your clever prowess continues to amaze the staff and I as well, James."

"Uh, thank you, sir?"

"No thanks are needed. A simple statement of fact… but I digress. Allow me to explain the powers behind this mysterious mirror."

Dumbledore turned and rested himself upon a desk, motioning for the two to follow. As they sat, he proceeded to account for Erised's power.

"The happiest man on Earth could gaze upon that scratched and dented pane of glass and see himself, as he is. Does that help?"

"Not really," Harry muttered.

"Yeah, sure, you're telling _me_ that _I'm_ the happiest man on Earth," James agreed sarcastically.

"You're not even old enough to be considered _half_ a man," Harry shot, punching James in the arm playfully.

James swatted at his brother. "Watch it!"

Dumbledore chuckled and waved for them to calm down. Harry then sat and thought for a moment. "So it shows us what we want. _Whatever_ we want."

"Yes," Dumbledore bobbed his head around, as if the answer sounded fishy and he was looking for a better answer. "And no. It shows us nothing more than our deepest, most desperate desires in the world. You, Harry, who have never known the eldest part of your family, looked into the mirror and saw them with the rest of your family, as if they had not left this realm of existence. Ronald Weasley, who has always been in the shadow of his eldest brothers and almost forgotten due to his younger sister saw himself in a position of power and glory, having stepped out of their ever lingering shadow."

"To put it poetically," James agreed.

"Indeed," Dumbledore acquiesced. "And you, James. You are the most puzzling, because no man is truly the happiest, or so happy to have no lingering desires. You do not see yourself as Mr. Weasley, for you see no one's shadow to encompass you. You never even saw a picture of your grandparents, so the idea of knowing them, or seeing them has never crossed your mind. You just live your life, day to day, as it comes, with no ambitions but to live the life given to you."

James realized with a start that the batty old coot may have had a point. James had been perfectly happy living in the now, and just… going with the flow.

"Ah… the understanding has come to its peak," Dumbledore smiled. "You now know after the hours you have spent this day why you, of all people, do not see anything but _yourself_ in that mirror. You have everything you ever wanted," Dumbledore elaborated, patting a long, slender finger on James Dean's chest, just above his heart. "You have _that_."

James looked down at the desk, slightly troubled. "I have everything I want… but doesn't that make me selfish? Shouldn't I want my grandparents alive? Or to see my mother out of a wheelchair, or-"

"My boy, that is anything but selfish. You are a follower of the Christian faith, yes?"

"Yeah... well, mostly."

"Then you know that your God does things for a reason, and that what has happened, is because it must. That is why you live for now. You know better than anyone to just… what's the muggle expression? 'Grin and bear it?'"

James nodded, feeling slightly better.

"I now must encourage you both to not return. Staring at a mirror full of unattainable dreams is not in anyone's favor. Even if you were to come back, you'd find the mirror has been moved to a better, more favorable position, and it wouldn't do to have any students caught out of bed after hours."

Harry and James stood and went for the door, knowing that they were dismissed.

"And James?"

James turned and regarded the headmaster, who had not moved a muscle from his spot in the desk. He made the large oak chair look frighteningly small to James. "Yeah?"

"Living for the now is a very good philosophy for happiness, but I fear there will come a day when you will have to inevitably live for the future, and have to concern yourself with the machinations of people you want nothing to do with. I hope, for the sake of all that we hold dear, that day comes soon. I also hope for the sake of your own happiness, that day never has to come."

"Right," James nodded, not understanding Dumbledore's prediction.

"Sir, may I ask a question?"

"You already have, Harry, but I will grace you with another."

"What do you see in the mirror?"

Dumbledore looked long and hard at Harry. He seemed to have gone off to another place and time, and was having bitter memories about it. "A pair of socks. No one can ever have enough socks."

* * *

And now, for the second character bio. My editor and certain readers have said they liked reading them, so, her you go...

* * *

"_Better to have a 'certain disregard for rules,' than to be locked up under your fat little thumb!"_

-Harry Potter to Professor Umbridge, 1996

_**2. Harry James Potter**_

**Alias: **The Boy Who Lived, Hare (James), Beacon of Hope for House Elves (Dobby, and again, James…)

**Real world influences**_ –_ c'mon… really?

**Theme Song**- Hero, Chad Kroeger (Nickelback) and Josie Scott (Saliva), Spiderman Soundtrack

**Physical**- short, slightly geeky, Green eyes, about 5"2', 90 lbs. as a First Year

**Wand**- 11 inches, holly, phoenix-feather core

**Patronus**: Stag

**Born**- St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, 31 July, 1980, London, England

**Bio**- Harry James was not found by the nun that found James the night Voldemort attacked his family. Thus, he grew up in the Potter family manor on the Isle of Wight. He always knew he had a twin brother, and his parents, James and Lily, always told him that he would get to know him one day. That day came when he was eight years old and Harry was never the same again.

Harry was an overprotected rich child who was taught morals and ethics and rules, despite the fact that his father had let him slide with breaking them. James was practically a street urchin, who was taught morals and ethics by religion and never shirked in bending, or even breaking them outright, knowing how to get away with it. Harry had been privileged and heralded as a hero by the common people. James was considered a freak and treated with the utmost caution. Harry had his heart in the right place, but had been allowed to get trampled on more than once, especially by his fat and bullying cousin, Dudley. James tore down everything Harry knew and gave him a backbone.

Together, they are the Boondock Saints- okay, maybe they aren't that awesome, but I can dream, right?

"_All right, that's enough! They're just boys! You might as well induct them into the Order!_"

"_Good, then I want to join! If Voldemort's building up an army then I want to fight!_"

-Harry and Molly Weasley

**What Makes Harry, Harry**- Harry, after a few months of knowing James, is quickly acclimated to him and sort of leans on him as a pillar. As Harry progressed, he learned from James what it meant to stick up for one's self and one's ideals. By the time Hogwarts starts, Harry is close to his brother, but not dependant on him. He easily finds friends in Ron Weasley, and not as easily in Hermione Granger. He is brave and noble, idealistic and just as rebellious as his twin, James. He is a little quieter and introverted than James, and shows a lot more vulnerability than James.

Other than that, he is Harry Freaking Potter. Figure it on your own, will ya?

"_Mum loves me more."_

"_Nuh uh," James shot back. "I'm the momma's boy in this relationship, you go simper up to Dad and quit trying to take what's rightfully mine."_

"_That's only because you were kidnapped!"_

"_Mother Agnes was awesome! I'd have her kidnap me again, so be the circumstances!"_

-Harry and James in a mock argument to distract a teacher


	16. Chapter 16: WWSSD?

Chapter sixteen, following chapter thirteen of the book almost to a T. James and Harry's first game, revelations about Snape's past, and curious numbers of odd little things happen to make this one of my proudest chapters yet.

Clare Stovold, Silver Sailor Ganymede, Forevermagic, you rock. For some reason I wanna say Prongs Deluxe rox too, so yeah, you rock dude. (I dunno why I feel I must say it… must be their name.)

I have a job! No more starving artist acts for me! I'll be able to buy my own books, instead of me mummy! Working at a gas station is-a gonna be sweet…

I have an amendment to make. I believe I misspelled "Nicolas Flamel" as "Nicholas Flammel" before, so pardon for my lack of proper research.

**Recommended Listening**: Ole!

**Artist**: Bouncing Souls

**Album**: Hopeless Romantic

I freaking love this song!

**Disclaimer Reminder**: I own nothing guys, and I'm making no money off of this story or any of its parts or spin-offs, should there be any.

* * *

James and Harry didn't know what was worse, Hermione's disappointment that they hadn't found out who Nicolas Flamel was, or her horrified shock at what they had actually done with their time in lieu of cramming their nose into library books.

"Honestly, 'Mione," James laughed, "You and Harry and Ron never told us to cram our noses into a book. I thought you guys dropped the whole detective act."

"I don't care if you did or didn't find Flammel. What if you and Harry got caught?"

"We technically did," Harry amended, looking sheepish.

"Exactly the point!"

"So what, he didn't do anything to us."

Hermione glared at James the rest of the first day of term, until he promised he would scour the library to find the mystery man. And by he, James actually meant we.

"Dude, why are we doing this?" Brian complained as he pulled down a book from the top shelf of History section.

"Because I need to get on Hermione's good side," James answered patiently for the tenth time that day, and for the thousandth time in four weeks. He didn't look up from the stack of published Potions essays written by bright past students. "And if finding Flamel makes it so, then by God, you two, _make it so_!"

"Why do you need her on good terms?" Travis asked, whispering over a cloud of dust. "Bleck, this place is covered in dirt!"

"Tell me about it…"

"Just keep looking, you two," James ordered, pulling a curious article written by none other than… Severus Snape. "I will worry about why I need a happy Hermy, you worry about how I'm going to make her happy."

James walked over to a nearby table, the yellowed scroll of parchment tucked in his hand. James set his books down gently; Pince, the librarian, still glared at him as if he had shouted. James had to admit, subtract forty some odd years and add twenty pounds, and Pince would have been a beautiful woman. But she was anorexic, old, and, in James' mind, a bitch. That was the only way he could describe it, but he had to give it to her; if he was so down on the romance ladder that the only thing he could catch was Argus Filch, then he'd be pretty cranky too. He gave her his best, "_Tell Filch about it and cry on his shoulder_," look, and set out to read Snape's article.

The entire publication was about a theory of a potion, written circa 1977. The professor had explained that he believed that a certain concoction of ingredients put together would be capable of mixing with any magical potion, and replicate its effects. Snape had gone into the details of how the potion should be made, and all the ingredients.

However, at the end of the article, was an official looking stamp from some place called the "Merlinsonian and a signature from a one Adallius Amerson. Amerson had a rebuttal against Snape's theory, and had written "number of attempts: 1" in the assorted slot.

This struck James as strange. Any scientific theory is never tested only once. It had variables, controls, and other things to monitor experiments. When a theory didn't work originally, you went back to the drawing board and changed a variable or three. Try again, and again, but not give up until you know for sure that it wouldn't work.

Adallius Amerson had written down at the end of the essay that _"Due to the dangerous circumstances involved with the testing of your theorem, Mr. Snape, I must regretfully tell you that I must decline your request for a full scholarship to the Merlinsonian. Your wild and reckless, not to mention wildly imaginative theory has ruined my entire lab, and under no circumstances will I stand for any more of your Dark Arts rambling in my presence ever again. This potion thesis is rubbish, and now your future as a Potions Master is, as well._

"_You're lucky I do not turn you over to the authorities, and acquit you to pay for damages rendered to Merlinsonian property. You will never step foot in this, or any Magical University, I promise you that._

"_Signed, Adallius Amerson, Head of the Potions Department, Merlinsonian Institute of Higher Magical Learning"_

"So, the Merlinsonian is a college, eh?"

It looked like Snape had a rocky past. But the Dark Arts? There was nothing in the article that looked like it was evil, but yet…

"Snape got screwed."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Trav," James quickly rolled the scroll and tucked it in his bag. "You guys ready to give up for the day?"

"Give _up_? Why would we want to do that?" Brian asked sarcastically. "I was ready to give up an hour ago."

"Aight, then let's get out of here."

* * *

The three Ravenclaws hefted Neville Longbottom up the ladder to Gryffindor Tower. "You should have just stood up to Malfoy, Nev," James complained as he pushed on Neville's bottom.

"Tell me about it," Brian agreed. He and Travis had Neville at the shoulders, pulling him into the common room, to the laughter of the Gryffindors lounging there.

"Laugh it up, you pricks," Travis scolded as they finally succeeded in dragging him up. The two collapsed on the floor as Hermione scurried over to help Neville. "Anybody know the counter curse to the Leg Locker?"

"I do," Hermione answered as she waved her wand. "What happened?"

"Malfoy happened," James scoffed, leading Neville over to where Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat. "He jumped Neville outside of the library, started bullying him. He's lucky he was walking away when we came out, otherwise I would have had Travis beat him to a pulp."

"I'd do it, too."

Hermione scolded James and Travis, and then turned her attentions to Neville. "Report him! Tell McGonagall!"

"Never," Neville whimpered, tears drying on his face. He was still shaking. "It's over."

"You need to start standing up to them Snakes, Neville," Harry shook his head and tossed him a Chocolate Frog. "Here, eat this and calm down."

Neville took the frog and nodded his thanks. He ate it greedily and shakily stood up. "Here, I don't collect the cards," he explained as he handed Harry the card. "I'm going to go to bed, I think. Sleep it off."

"You do that, dude," James nodded. He clapped Neville on the back before turning to Harry. "Who is it?"

"Dumbledore," Harry answered, turning the card over in his hands.

"Bah, I got ten of him," Ron scoffed.

Harry suddenly gasped. "I knew I read his name somewhere!"

"Who, Dumbledore?"

"No, Nicolas Flamel! '_Considered by many to be the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his _partner_, Nicolas Flamel!'"_

"That would explain why something of Flamel's is at Hoggy Warty Hogwarts," Ron snorted. "If he's buddy-buddy with Dumbledore, than who better to trust with your greatest treasure?"

"Harry," Brian asked strenuously, with a glimmer of mania in his eye. "Are you telling me that the three of us having been tearing the library apart for three weeks when you had Flamel's name in your back pocket?"

"That's exactly what he's saying," Hermione answered, kissing James on the cheek and dashing up to the girl's dormitory. "You are a genius and didn't even know it! I should have known!"

"Known what?"

"Does this mean I'm on your good side again?"

"Good and so much more, James!" Hermione reappeared a moment later with a large tome in hand. "This was one of the books about alchemy you bought for me for Christmas, James, remember?"

"Yeah..." James trailed off, looking sheepish. He didn't exactly 'buy it.' He had Wackie steal it from the Potter Manor library. "You wanted to know the theories medieval alchemists had about turning stuff to lasting gold."

"Yeah, and you gave this to me for light reading," Hermione continued, flipping the pages and stopping at a certain page depicting various diagrams.

"Light reading?" Ron and Brian chorused, looking aghast.

"Hush. According to muggle history, Flamel, the famed French Alchemist, died with his wife Perenelle in fourteen eighteen."

"Jesus, six-six-six?" Travis asked, counting numbers on his hand. "He'd be six hundred and sixty six years old? That ain't _evil_ sounding at all."

"It's just his age," Hermione chided. "His story is a myth in muggle circles, but he is very much alive. It all started when grave robbers dug up his tomb looking for a 'Sorcerer's Stone.' However, it was empty, and that was where muggle conspiracy began about him. But in magical history… he's the only known creator of the Philosopher's Stone, a magical object that creates a potion of immortality and an endless supply of gold! That must be what Fluffy is guarding… and why Snape wants to get past him."

"Blimey, no wonder Snape's after it," Ron drawled. "Anyone would want to have one!"

James rolled his eyes. "You're still not on about Snape, are you?"

"He cursed Harry at the game, dude," Brian reminded. "And was trying to get past the dog, Harry heard it himself."

"Him cursing Harry and the Stone are two unrelated incidents. He was probably pulling a Malfoy, trying to make Harry look bad. And I still think that he was looking _after_ the dog, not the other way around. Hagrid has mentioned in passing that his "dog" had a tooth infection the last time I was down at his hut, and Fang's breath was as healthily disgusting as always, so I don't think it was him."

Harry groaned and sat back. "You just don't get it! This would be something Snape would do!"

"You're just biased against each other. He doesn't hate me."

"Yes he does!"

"Then why am I getting an 'O' in his class? Highest possible grade?"

"Look, this is all supposition," Hermione interrupted, breaking up the impending argument. "All we know is that Snape might be after the Stone, which brings me to the next point; you two need to find a game plan about your next match. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw are playing each other, and with Snape refereeing-"

"Snape's reffing the match?" James asked, stupefied. "How on-"

"I don't know, but Snape is going to be unfair to Gryffindor at best, and he may be after you two at the worst."

"Well, isn't that a lovely thought…"

* * *

"Whoever gave Quirrell this job is an idiot," James muttered the next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts. "He's a freaking idiot, and doesn't know anything."

Quirrell snapped his head up from the chalkboard; he seemed to have heard this comment, as did everybody else. Gryffindor's chuckled silently in agreement, while other Ravenclaws murmured. Judging by the way Quirrell was looking about the class, however, he didn't hear who had said it, and he continued his lecture on the treatment of werewolf bites.

"Too true mate," Ron whispered. "All he does is stutter."

"I don't know who is worse in this class," Travis snorted, taking notes. "Quirrell, or Emma Kennedy when she gets called on."

"Leave the poor girl alone," James reprimanded softly. "She has trouble fitting in, that's all."

The whispered conversation quickly turned to what would happen if they had their own Philosopher's Stone. Brian would have gone overboard on music: schooling, a tour bus full of guitars, a record company, a band… Travis muttered that he'd have bought lifetime season tickets to the Jet's every game.

But it wasn't until Ron mentioned out of the corner of his mouth that he'd buy a quidditch team that James and Harry were grimly reminded of the upcoming game the next day. It was going to be hell.

* * *

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

"What's wrong, Dez?" Roger asked as he and James walked down to the Great Hall the morning of the game.

"Atris has dragon pox, that's what!"

"What?"

"So? Call up Cho."

"I can't, she is in the Hospital Wing because some punk named Malfoy hexed her nose off!"

"What!?" James and Roger blew up.

"I hate that kid," Roger grumbled.

"I'll rip his heart out!"

"Yeah, and that means, you guessed it, we have _no Seekers_."

"So… what are we going to do?"

"What we're going to do, Potter, is call up Jeremy Stretton."

Jeremy Stretton had not been happy to be permanently replaced. He refused to even be called a reserve.

"That's idiocy," James stated simply. "He'll never agree to play Seeker."

"No, but he will agree to playing Chaser, won't he?"

"I hate to break it to you… but we don't need a Chaser, Desmond."

"Yeah, we need a Seeker," Desmond grinned evilly, turning his gaze to James. "And I'm looking at him."

* * *

The weather was drearily overcast. Rolling gray clouds looked down at the Earth threateningly, prepared to send a downpour at any second, whether it be snow or rain or ice.

"So, no hard feelings, right?" James asked as he lined up with Harry, tightening and retightening his gloves. "Brothers until the last, right bro?"

"Calm down, James," Harry soothed grinning. "It will be over before you know it. I'll catch the Snitch and you'll never have to play Seeker ever again."

James glared at Harry. He thought he was just going to let him get away with the Snitch? He thought he could play better than James? James snarled at his twin and felt his competitiveness get the better of him.

The crowds were pretty even between the two teams. Hufflepuff was cheering for Gryffindor for the sole fact that they always did, unless they were playing them. Slytherin was going for Ravenclaw for the sole fact that they hated Gryffindor. Marcus Flint and the rest of his team were even hoisting a banner painted in blue and bronze that read '_My favorite team is Slytherin and any team that beats Gryffindor!_'

Having snakes at his back did not ease James' nerves.

Snape did not make the two captains shake hands, but Desmond and Wood, the two captains who both were leading undefeated teams, shook anyway. Snape put a whistle between his thin, sallow lips and tossed the Quaffle. The game got underway.

Within minutes Ravenclaw scored, but Gryffindor answered back. Back and forth they went, carving up a tie of thirty to thirty within five minutes.

James and Harry both saw the glittering of gold next to Snape's face from a hundred yards up, and they both dived for it. Harry let gravity take his descent while James accelerated right through it. Harry grinned at this; James would not be able to brake his fall.

The two split a surprised Snape and raced to the ground after the flying gold ball. Excited gasps, rendered into a thunderous roar by the sheer number of people watching, filled the stadium as Harry and James sped towards the ground. The Snitch was breaking its dive and began to fly northwards. James, going too fast to turn, and Harry, too far behind to keep an eye on it, both dove off their brooms, hands reaching for the ball. Harry's grabbed the Snitch just a split second before James', but they fell to the ground with the silver-winged sphere trapped in their conjoined fists.

"They- wait… the both caught the Snitch?" Lee announced in confusion. "A tie?"

"Gimme it!" James ordered childishly, tugging on the Snitch.

"No!" Harry roared, swatting at James' face with his free hand.

"I said gimme it!" James roared back as he ducked his head, swinging a punch at Harry's stomach. Harry arced his back out to evade the strike, and then slammed his body into James. James wrapped his free arm around Harry and tackled him back, spewing both into the mud just as Snape stormed up to separate them.

With a flick of Snape's wand, James was sent flying off of Harry, but he stubbornly held his grip on the Snitch.

"Give it to me, Hare!"

"No, Jammie!"

"Don't call me Jammie! Only Mom can do that!"

"Oh yeah? Well, Mum loves me more!"

"Nuh uh!" James shot back. "I'm the momma's boy in this relationship, you go simper up to Dad and quit trying to take what's rightfully mine."

"That's only because you were kidnapped!" Harry defended, swatting at a hovering James again.

"Mother Agnes was awesome! I'd have her kidnap me again, so be the circumstances!"

"Enough!" Snape thundered, blasting the Snitch out of the two boys' hands. James landed with a thud into the mud, splashing Harry. The two looked up at Snape, fearful for their lives. "The game has ended, and the result is a tie," he seethed, glaring at the two.

"What?" Desmond demanded, walking up as he argued with Wood. "A tie?"

"Professor," Wood implored, "The game can't end in a tie! We must have a tie breaker, or… or… something!"

"The game ends when the Seeker, or in this case, Seekers, catch the Golden Snitch. They have done so, and the one hundred-fifty points is split. The score is ninety five, ninety five. The game is over, and both of your teams are still undefeated. I suggest you drop this argument and work on how you plan to keep them that way, or _else_."

"But-" Desmond started.

"_Or else_, Worthwright."

* * *

"Uh… brothers?"

Harry held his hand out as he and James walked back to the broom shed. They had met outside of the locker rooms, and an awkward silence had ensued as they proceeded out of the pitch.

"Of course!" James grinned, but his shoulders had relaxed, Harry noticed. "What, did you think I thought you meant what you said?"

Harry and James gripped hands. "Do me a favor, though."

"What?" Harry asked as they opened the broom shed door. "Never mention the orphanage in public ever again-"

"What is it?" Harry queried as he watched James' gaze. "Snape?"

The tall, thin figure descending the castle steps, hood raised, indeed looked like Snape. All black, with a hood up over his face, the man quickly turned off from the castle and proceeded straight to the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid was in the Great Hall having dinner with the rest of the school; the figure walked stridently past the giant man's hut.

"I think so, Hare."

Harry made to dump his broom in the closet. "Let's follow him."

"Harry," James stated.

"What?"

"Keep the broom, we're flying."

"What? Why?"

"It's quieter."

The twins jumped up on their Nimbus' and flew off after the Maybe-Snape, high enough not to be heard or seen unless he looked up and behind. They descended as he slipped into the trees, hovering slowly around branches and thickets. The forest was a dark and shaded place during the day, but at as the sun went down, everything looked like a monster. James and Harry weren't scared; anything that attacked them, they could escape using the most superior racing brooms to date. After five minutes of hiking, the man reached his apparent destination, a clearing in the forest.

Quirinus Quirrell was there.

Harry and James landed soundlessly on adjoining tree limbs and looked at each other. James held his middle and index fingers to his eyes, and pointed at Maybe Snape. _Watch him_, he mouthed. _I'll watch Quirrell._

Harry nodded as the figure lowered his hood. The two of them unconsciously brandished their wands.

It was indeed Snape.

"I d-don't know why you wanted t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus," Quirrell stuttered. Something was off about the man. He seemed nervous, but he was talking to an angry looking Snape. However he didn't seem to be intimidated by him. He looked like he was hiding something.

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," Snape said, sounding icy and lecturing. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all."

James looked at Harry with frustration. _You let him know!?_ He mouthed angrily. _What did you and Ron say?_

_Nothing_, Harry mouthed back, shrugging. _He has been following me._

James shook his head. He went back to observing Quirrell.

He was mumbling an incoherent reply when Snape interrupted him.

"Have you found out how to get past Hagrid's yet, then?"

"B-b-but Severus, I-"

"You do not want me as your enemy, Quirrell," Snape leered, taking a step towards the hapless professor.

"I-I don't know what you-"

"You know bloody well what I mean!" Snape exploded, pulling out his wand and jabbing it below Quirrell's quivering chin. James snapped his hand to Harry's forearm, stopping him from raising his wand. An owl hooted in the distance, nearly causing them to lose their balance. The two leveled themselves just in time to hear Snape mutter, "-your little hocus pocus. I'm waiting. You _will_ slip up, fool. And I _will_ be watching."

"B-but I d-don't know-"

"Very well," Snape sneered. "We'll have another chit-chat again soon, when you've had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie."

Snape threw his cloak back over his head, gave Quirrell one last withering look, and strode out of the forest. Quirrell stood still in his spot, utterly petrified.

"C'mon, James, the sun's about down," Harry whispered, grabbing James by the arm.

James shirked him off, still staring at Quirrell. He had rooted himself from his frozen state and was pacing. Then he started yelling incoherently, as if arguing with himself. And he was not stuttering.

"What's he going on about?"

"Dunno, Hare, but I don't like where this mystery is turning."

* * *

Where have you two been?" Hermione squeaked as they walked in to the portal of the Gryffindor common room.

"We won! You won! We all won!" Ron roared happily, thumping James and Harry on their backs. "And I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville took Crabbe and Goyle on all by himself! He's passed out in the infirmary now, but you should see the other two! We're having a tie-game party, and Fred and George nicked some sweets and stuff from the kitchens to cap it off!"

"That's awesome, Ron," James slung his arm over the redhead's shoulders and led him over to the couches. "But we got some news."

"News?" Brian asked, chomping through a cauldron cake and swigging a bottle of pumpkin juice. "Y'know, I never thought I'd ever drink this stuff, but it's pretty damn good!"

"What news?" Travis piped in, jumping over the back of a couch.

"Not here," Harry looked over his shoulder, searching for eavesdroppers. "Let's get out of here and find an empty classroom or something."

The six of them quickly filed out of the common room and as soon as the door clicked shut on the nearest abandoned classroom, Harry and James elaborated on what they had seen.

"So Snape really is after the Stone, then!" Ron griped.

"Not necessarily," Travis argued. "According to what Jimmy Dean said about what Snape said, he may be the one after it, or he could be _defending_ it."

"From _Quirrell_?" Ron and Hermione chorused, indignant.

"I don't think so. Quirrell doesn't fit the bill of power hungry, rock stealing jerk. But Snape did say 'Students aren't supposed to know about the Stone,' right Jimmy?"

"_James_," James corrected stiffly. "And yes, he did. He could have meant us, but maybe another student could be after it."

"Malfoy," Harry and Ron chorused.

"Malfoy is too stuck up on his own rich horse to even look between the lines of his own words," James disagreed. "But I'm willing to bet it is a Slytherin. Or maybe that Hufflepuff beater who insulted my mother. He looks like the type."

"Damn you and your Hufflepuff racism," Brian snorted.

"Regardless, Snape referenced that Quirrell had a hand in placing magic around the stone, and I think Snape did ask him how to get through it. And how to get past Fluffy."

"So, if Snape really is after the Stone," Travis elaborated slowly, "The only thing, or rather, person, standing between him and it, is Quirrel?"

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," Ron groaned miserably.


	17. Chapter 17: Get Rid of that Thing!

Hello again. I have an awesome job at a gas station, an awesome editor(Forvermagic), three awesome continuous reviewers(Clare Stovold(from the begining), Sailor Ganymede(from about the middle), and Now November21(about the last couple chapters)), I just beat Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 on the LAST and HARDEST difficulty(I played every single difficulty in order for the hell of it), and I like long walks on the beach, dancing in the rain, and-

**Recommended Listen-**_Clare stop hugging me!_**-ing**: The Memory Remains

**Artist**: Metallica

**Album**: ReLoad

Disclaimer/Warning: Same old story, new old chapter. No Mrs. Norris' or Norberts were harmed in the making of this chapter. Viewer discretion is advised- people who do not like people ignoring people may be offended by people ignoring people in this people unfriendly people chapter.

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... People.

* * *

"Tonight's the night," Fred whispered in James ear.

No sooner than he had sat down for breakfast, Fred had gotten up and with purpose, striding over to the Ravenclaw table. His face was dark and his eyes angry, malicious energy sparking from the boiling blue orbs. James wondered intently what he was so gassed about; it looked like he was about to find out.

"Come on," Fred demanded, grabbing James by the arm. "Outside the Hall."

Fred all but dragged James into the Entrance Hall, passing Filch as he shuffled toward the staff table. James gave him a cursory glance, but nothing more. _Rule number nine_, James thought._ Never compromise a prank_. Fred didn't even acknowledge Filch's leering, angry glare, he just stormed past him and shoved the tall, heavy Entry doors shut behind him.

"What's up?"

"Mrs. Norris is going down tonight," Fred whispered angrily. "No more detours, no more setbacks. Clear your schedule of whatever you're doing with Harry or your brothers or Dumbledore or whoever the hell you've been dating. We're doing this _tonight_."

"Jeez, Fred, if I knew you'd be so pissed about me putting you off, I would have done this earlier," James cracked.

Fred didn't smile.

"I don't care about when it gets done, you have other priorities, I know. But I will not stand for this any longer. Filch needs to pay in fur."

"Ha ha, pay in fur. Like Pay in full, only fur? Nice play on words, bro. Anyway, what'd he do now?"

"Last night, quidditch practice was pretty muddy. Me and George got in the castle through a secret entrance, but the girls went in through here," Fred explained, waving around the Entry Hall. James knew who he meant by "girls." Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet; the Weasley twins were quite… _fond_ of them. "Filch was there, waiting for them. He forced them to go to his office, and punished them for tracking in _mud_."

"What? That's not fair! The only showers we got are up in the commons!"

"That's exactly what they argued, but Filch just tore them a new one and threw 'em in a month's detention. Katie is still raving, Alicia hasn't stopped crying, and Angie hasn't said a word since."

"That bastard!"

"Exactly. Do you have that _special_ _spell_ practiced?"

James held up his bare arm. "Witch Weekly approved."

"Good. Because tonight's the night."

* * *

"Okay, I stole Filch's nightly schedule, and he's going to be in the Charms corridor on the fifth floor at eleven thirty. Savvy?"

James nodded. He looked down at the map Fred was referencing and couldn't help but express his disappointment. Fred told him that his "best map" was for twins' eyes only, and that it did not include Potter twins. "So we'll hide behind the two adjacent suits of armor when he passes, the KitteeKrak hidden here," James pointed at the niche in the corridor wall, "And watch Mrs. Norris get high."

"Exactly," Fred nodded. "And then when she's so doped up on enhanced catnip, we'll take her to this classroom on the second floor Arithmancy corridor and get to _work_ on her. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Good, let's get going."

The two descended from the Gryffindor common room and raced to their positions, evading prefect patrols along the way. Fred groaned in wanting as Percy and Penelope Clearwater walked past their hiding spot, but James held him back. "We're oscar mike on Norris, not Percy."

"Oscar mike?"

"Muggle military phonetics. We three kings use them because it sounds cool."

"Oh. Wait, since when are you three 'kings'?"

"Oh, shut it."

As soon as the two prefects were out of sight, the continued on their way to the fifth floor. The sailing was smooth, and no patrols came by. Fred opened the can of tuna, mixed in the potion, and they jumped behind their suits of armor.

Before long, Filch had shuffled and limped down the corridor, the long haired, scraggly looking feline trotting behind him dutifully. Her amber orbs beamed like headlights, but she didn't see, smell, or hear the pranksters as she and her master went past. As they neared the can of spiked tuna, however…

"She's eating it!" Fred whispered, giving James a thumbs-up. James nodded at him, and watched as the cat started pawing the air franticly.

James grinned evilly as he stepped out from behind the armor. "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty…"

* * *

"Morning, Hermione," Harry nodded tiredly at his friend as she came to the table the next morning.

"Good morning, Harry," she smiled as she sat next to him, her nose crammed into one of the books James had "bought" her.

"Oi, do you ever stop reading?" Ron asked as he shoveled eggs into his mouth.

"Oh, I don't know… do _you_ ever stop _eating_?"

Harry tuned them out as they started bickering. He turned his gaze to the entrance of the Great Hall, however, as a disturbance amongst the students aroused. Hermione and Ron did too, and Ron almost fell out of his bench laughing.

A cat who had obviously been shaved stumbled in as if sedated. It had a horrid green sweater with _Mrs. Norris_ scrawled across the back, and her amber eyes were half-lidded. Fred, George, Lee, James, Travis and Brian were all laughing the hardest amongst the entire gathering in the Hall.

"What did you guys do?" Harry asked with wide grin as the group made their way to class not long later.

James held up a Witch Weekly magazine, dated from April. "Shaving charm. Guaranteed to not nick, cut, slash, or leave unsightly razor bumps behind. Mom threw this in the trash last year, and I dug it out, figuring it might help with something or another. Looks like I was right, eh?"

Harry laughed. "Is it supposed to drug the user as they shave?"

"No, that was another little invention of Fred's, but I'm not telling. A magician _never_ reveals his tricks, after all. All I'm at liberty to say is that Mrs. Norris does not need any more catnip. For life, bro."

* * *

The commotion from the Mrs. Norris incident took a week to die down. "Shaved pussy" jokes spread like wildfire, and even the Slytherins were congratulating Fred and George for "their" achievement. James, Harry noted curiously, was more than glad to have someone else take the credit. George, too, was more than happy to take the blame; as soon as his twin revealed the "secret ingredient" to the whole plan, he took no shame in bragging that he was a part of the plan.

Filch vowed to catch and punish who ever had befouled his cat, and he knew that the Weasleys were behind it, but without proof, he had nothing. James was never suspected, and Harry knew his twin preferred it that way. James feared Filch as much as he hated him, and so long as he was forgotten, he was able to conspire without fear. James liked to pull pranks for the fun of getting away with it, not for the reaction.

"You know me too well," James had cracked when Harry brought it up. "We need to stop spending so much time together, next thing you know, you'll know my potty schedule."

Harry didn't see much of James after that. He and his Ravenclaw mates were always in their commons or the library, studying. It seemed like he didn't have much plans for a next prank, otherwise he would have been poking Harry for ideas.

"Harry."

He had, however, taken something akin to support of Quirrell. All of them had, in a way. Harry would shoot him supportive grins. Ron stood up for him in front of a gang of teasing Slytherins. James stopped muttering how he wished he had a better teacher, and Travis and Brian even thanked him for being an "upstanding teacher" in front of the entire class. Quirrell, who seemed to have gotten thinner and thinner and paler and paler, couldn't speak properly for an hour afterwards.

"Harry."

Any enemy of Snape was a friend of his, Harry had decided.

"_Harry_."

Ron's prediction of the man's backbone had not been quite as true. Tuesday had come and gone, and Snape was as angry as ever. That meant that the Stone was safe and sound, and Fluffy had not been dispatched…

"Harry!" Hermione slapped his arm.

"What, Hermione?"

"You need to stop day dreaming!" Hermione insisted. She shoved him his potions book and pointed at something she had highlighted. "The final exams are not that far away!"

"Ten weeks," Ron reminded her weakly. "That's ages away."

"No, that's less than three months. It's like a second to Nicolas Flamel."

"Nicolas," James corrected her from behind a shelf of books. "Nick-oh-_lah_, because he's French. Honestly, girl, I thought you were smart?"

Hermione's tactful reply was cut short as James turned and walked away, a pile of books folded in his arms up to his chin.

"Yeah, and we're not six hundred years old, now, are we?" Ron pushed. "Why are you studying, anyway? You already know it all."

"Are you insane," Hermione hissed, dropping her head. "Do you realize that we need to pass these tests to get into second year? I should have started studying ages ago. I have no idea what's gotten into me!"

"Nicolas Flamel?" Brian piped up helpfully, grabbing a _Potions Ingredients Encyclopedia_. "He _has_ taken up quite a bit of our time."

"Oh, go back to your mates!"

"Okay, okay, jeez…"

The teachers had gotten the same idea as Hermione, and had piled on so much homework that Harry had little free time between studying and quidditch practice. The Easter holidays had been nowhere near as interesting as Christmas, as they had spent all of their time in the library or in the common room, imitating Hermione on a slow, easy day. It was hard to relax with James and Brian cracking jokes, Travis and Hermione tirelessly practicing wand movements, and Ron complaining about brain overload.

"I'm never gonna remember this!" Ron exploded minutes later, shoving his quill into a bottle of ink.

Harry rolled his eyes and didn't bother looking up from his definition of Dittany until Ron cried, "Hagrid! What are you doing here?"

Hagrid shuffled up from his secluded section with something behind his back. "Jus' lookin'," Hagrid growled defensively, looking suspicious. "An' what're you lot up ter? Still not looking for Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh no," Travis answered happily as he pulled out a _Charms, and When to Use Them_ from a nearby shelf. "We already found him out. And we know that that pooch is guarding the Philos-"

"_Shh_!" Hagrid shushed angrily. Travis gave Hagrid an annoyed look and stalked back to the Ravenclaw study group. "Jerk," the tall black boy insulted under his breath.

"Don't go about shoutin' it off to everyone yer hear. What's the matter with yeh?"

"Well, we actually wanted to talk to you about that," Harry perked up, speaking cheerfully. "About what else is guarding it other than Fluffy-"

"SHHHH!" Hagrid waved in frustration. "Listen, you three- just you three- come down to meh hut later on, and we'll talk abou' it. I'm not sayin' I'm sayin' nuttin', o' course, but don' go 'round spoutin' off abou' it, alrigh'?"

"See you later, then."

"What was he hiding behind his back?" Hermione asked thoughtfully.

"Dragons," Michael Corner answered as he put a dusty Dark Arts Defensive book back on a shelf, not looking up. "He was in the _Magical Animals: Dragons_ section."

"Thank you, Michael," Hermione said.

"Hagrid always said he wanted a dragon," Harry shrugged nonchalantly.

"But it's against our laws," Ron said. "Dragons are dangerous, that's why their breeding is illegal. My brother Charlie has some wicked burns from some of the ones he works with, and their tame."

"Aren't there dragons in Britain, though?" Hermione asked, looking intrigued. Ron looked pleased that he was telling her something for a change.

"Yeah, the Welsh Green and the Hebridean Black. But they cause trouble for the Ministry, a downright mess, I tell you. Always having to magic muggles who have seen or were hurt by them.

"So then what in Merlin's name is Hagrid up to?"

* * *

No more than an hour later, the three were making their way down to Hagrid's hut. The sky was crystal clear, and the temperature was just perfect. A cool breeze flitted past and tussled Harry's wild, tameless hair cheerily. The grass was just starting to return to a healthy, green color. Owls were coming and going easily, riding currents and thermals with joy.

Hagrid's hut was shut out, however. The door was locked, and the windows had curtains closed around them. When they knocked, Hagrid bellowed cautiously, "Who is it?" and then covertly slammed the door closed behind them.

"Hagrid, what is going on?" Ron asked.

The air inside the hut was hot and stuffy. Despite that it was warm enough outside, a fire crackled heavily in the hearth, and a black oval orb perched atop it. Hagrid ignored Ron and offered them tea and a light lunch.

"So- yeh wanted to ask me something?"

"Yes," Harry said. "We were wondering what else was guarding the Philosopher's Stone other than Fluffy."

Hagrid stared at Harry angrily. "Yeh know better than to ask meh that. Yeh know I can't answer tha'. Couldn't tell yeh even if I knew. Which I don'. That Stone is here fer a reason, you three, and it was almost stolen outta Gringotts. I s'pose yeh worked that out, too."

"James was a little skeptical about it," Harry affirmed. "But I figured it had something to do with it."

"Then yeh know-"

"Quit telling us what we know," Ron interrupted. "We know what it is, what it does, and what has happened because of it all the way up to now. We want to know what is going to happen to it in the future, what is keeping it from getting stolen."

"I told yeh, I don't know nuthin'," Hagrid replied.

"C'mon, Hagrid," Hermione said flatteringly. "We're just wondering what is guarding it. We would like to know who else is doing the guarding, who Dumbledore trusts. You are obviously one of them."

Hagrid grinned nicely, embarrassed. His chest swelled with pride, and Harry knew that Hermione's sweet talking had hit the spot. "Well, tha's true. He does trust me… well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to tell yeh who is working on it, just no tellin'!"

The three nodded their heads quickly in agreement. Hagrid sat forward on his seat and conspiratorially explained it to them. "Well, there's Dumbledore himself, o' course. And then some of the other teacher's done some enchantments-Professor McGonagall, Flitwick… Sprout- er… Quirrell did some anti-Dark Arts curses, o' course. And then Dumbledore himself, again. I'm fergettin' somebody… oh, and Snape. Some potions work, I guess."

"Snape?" the three chorused in shock.

"Aye, Snape. Yeh still not up on tha', are yeh?"

"Yeah, we are," Ron shot back.

"If I dun know better, I'd say yeh three are up ter no good," Hagrid accused.

"Nothing," Hermione answered. "But Snape is."

James would have shot Hermione's accusation down where it stood, and Hagrid did, as well. "Yeh listen here, what would Snape want with the Stone? He's a Hogwarts teacher, Dumbledore trusts him, and he helped put up defenses for it. Why would he break that?"

"Because he's tried to get past Fluffy, kill Harry, and has threatened Quirrell," Hermione explained. When Hagrid acted incredulous to their accusations, they explained everything that had happened. Snape's bloody leg, his cursing Harry's broom, and the tryst into the Forbidden Forest with Quirrell.

Hagrid was unconvinced. "Snape is a teacher," he insisted, although a little foolishly.

"Look," Ron interjected. "Forget about it. Just promise us only you and Dumbledore are the ones who know how to get past Fluffy."

Hagrid put his hand to his chest in pride. "I swear ter it."

"Okay, good," Harry said. He pulled his collar down and fanned his face. "Can we open a window? It's pretty stale in here."

"Sorry, Harry, can't," Hagrid declined as he pointed a loving glance at the fire.

"Hargid, is that-"Ron started, but stopped. "No, Hagrid, no!"

"Yes, Ron, yes!" Hagrid grinned.

"Where'd you get it?"

"Won it in a game o' cards," Hagrid explained. "With a bloke down at the pub, last night. He seemed quite happy ter get rid o' it, I tell yeh. All but thanked me, he did."

"Uh… what is it?"

"It's a dragon egg," Ron snorted. "Dangerous…"

"A Norwegian Ridgeback, ter be precise. I been doin' some readin' on it, and it's a Norwegian Ridgeback. Gotta keep it warm, yeh see, 'cause their mummies breathe on 'em, see. And you got ter cover 'em in chicken blood mixed with brandy, ter feed 'em. Pretty rare breed, Ridgebacks."

"Dragons are rare period," Hermione breathed, looking at egg in awe. "When will it hatch?"

"Oh, not too long, now. It's already moving around a bit, see?"

The egg shifted slightly in the grate, and the embers popped as it did.

"Hagrid," Harry spoke up when he realized something. "You live in a wooden hut."

Hagrid ignored him. He simply hummed merrily and stoked the fire, love in his eyes.

"You're going to get yourself killed."

* * *

'We gotta tell James," Ron stated when they crawled into the common room.

"No, do not tell James," Harry put his foot down. "Or anybody, for that matter."

"Why?"

"Because James will jump for joy and ask to ride it, Brian would demand to touch it, and Travis would all but steal it from Hagrid just to study it. For all they know, Hagrid has a cold. You hear?"

Ron shook his head. "I don't think James would be that immature."

"James may have the maturity of a guy twice his age, but he doesn't use it when it suits him. He'd think flying on a dragon would be a step up from a broom, considering where he grew up."

"Where did he grow up?" Hermione asked. "He does have an American accent, and I was wondering why he and the other two had one, but I thought it crass to ask."

"New York City, in an orphanage. Don't mention it, he hated it there."

"James hated what where now?"

"Oh- James!" Hermione giggled nervously. "What are you doing here?"

James jumped down from the stairwell to the dormitories and grinned. "Been waiting for you guys. Anyway, what are talking about me for?"

"I… told them about your… past."

"You say that like I killed someone, Hare," James laughed and socked Harry on the arm. "Yeah, I hated it, and no, don't ask me to talk in detail about it, but it was what it was, right?"

"Yeah…"

"And what didn't you want them to tell me about Hagrid? I know he doesn't have a cold, he was in the library. Seriously, you need to work on your lying skills."

"He…"

Ron coughed uncomfortably. "He has a dragon."

"Gah! He has a what?"

" A dragon," Hermione whispered, looking around. "He won a dragon egg from some stranger at a pub last night, and… well…"

"He wants to keep it."

Hermione nodded. James looked between the three of them, dumbstruck. "Tell Dumbledore."

"We can't! Hagrid will get in trouble!"

"So will you if Hagrid is found out. We all will, because it is widely known that Hagrid is close to all of us, and we will be questioned, just like him. If we all tell Dumbledore, then he will help, not punish."

"And how do you know the old coot just won't go insane on Hagrid, and fire him or something?" Ron asked angrily. "Dumbledore would get pissed."

"If I know Dumbledore, than I know that he more than likely already knows, or at least has inklings. And he wouldn't be mad, and we all know it. Your brother works with dragons, he could arrange to have it sent it off to Charlie, and we never tell Dumbledore where Hagrid got it from."

Hermione bit her lip. "It _is_ a sound plan. Dumbledore was nowhere near angry at you three for roaming the halls afterhours, even when he caught you red handed. He would understand."

"Yeah, and we would never even have to tell Brian or Travis. Those two idiots would squeal and beg to ride the stupid thing," James snorted. "Idiots."

* * *

"Hagrid, you need to let it go," James urged.

Hagrid glared at James and Harry. "You ain't takin' him away from me. You are not tellin' Dumbledore, neither."

"Hagrid," Harry argued. "Norwegian Ridgebacks grow up to forty feet long! You'll never be able to hide the thing, much less here, in your hut."

"He's right Hagrid. This is for the best, and you know it. This dragon will not be happy, and you will end up in Azkaban when you get caught, or worse. Their bite is poisonous, and deadly. It needs a proper environment and Hogwarts ain't it."

"No!"

"There is no arguing, Hagrid," Harry replied coolly. "The four of us, that is, me, James, Ron, and Hermione, have decided. If you don't tell Dumbledore that you found it, we're going to tell him how you won it. He's on his way-"

"You told him!" Hagrid bellowed. "You ruddy told him!?"

"No," James replied. "We told him you had something for him to see, something you were too busy taking care of to get him to come. Something too dangerous to let anyone else know about."

Hagrid looked close to tears. "You… you… you ruddy told him…"

"Don't try the wounded puppy look with me!" James scolded. "You know that this is crazy! You're being irrational, and stupid! This dragon can't stay here! What were you thinking, taking it from a complete stranger?"

"All I ever wanted was a dragon! What else was I supposed to so?"

"Uh… think about your career? Your freedom? Your life? The students of Hogwarts' lives?"

Hagrid retreated into his hut, sobbing, but James followed him, pressing the attack. "Dammit Hagrid, this is about more than just you! If you keep this lizard, someone is going to get hurt!"

"I know!"

"Then you know that in about five minutes, you're going to have a choice; tell Dumbledore you found the egg, or have Harry and I tell him the truth. What is your choice?"

"I… I'll tell him the truth. Not you, not meh lying, but the truth. He deserves that much…"

"Who deserves that much, Hagrid?" Dumbledore's voice penetrated the hut as he opened the front door.

"Professor," Hagrid started, drawing himself. "I got somethin' ter tell yeh."


	18. Chapter 18: Get In The Hole

Two in two days... my editor got on top of things FAST!

Recommended Listening: Fade to Black

Artist: Metallica

Album(My Favorite!): Ride The Lightning

* * *

Voldemort simmered inside Quirrell's head impatiently.

"It will be done tonight, M'Lord," the tall, thin man assured from the mirror. "It will be done tonight."

"Indeed it shall, Quirinus," the high, raspy voice whispered.

Two and a half months of planning and coordination would finally come to a T and all Voldemort needed to do was be patient. That normally wouldn't be a problem, because even he knew that the best rewards were given to those who waited for the perfect opportunity. But this… this was the pinnacle moment of his triumphant return… and he wanted it now.

"Shall I send the letter from the diversionary Ministry letter to Dumbledore now?"

"Yes… he will be preoccupied by it for quite a while. Put the turban on, but loosely. I think I have had enough with the scent of your sweat."

* * *

In years to pass, Harry would often look back at the end of his summer term and wonder idly how on earth he managaed to not only get through his exams, but pass them comfortably well. It tended to make you paranoid, thinking about when Voldemort was going to jump around the corner and blast you into oblivion. James, on the other hand, was not remotely worried.

"Believe in Dumbledore," he would assure Harry. "No boogie man ain't coming in on the Headmaster's turf, not if he has anything to say about it."

Harry wasn't so convinced. It felt like any day now, the three headed dog named Fluffy would be put down and the object of Snape's obsession would be finally in his grasp. And then Voldemort would come blasting in, screeching for revenge and the like, killing Harry and his beloved twin before they ever truly learned how to use a wand. Oh, and then he had to worry about the exams; something James and Hermione both bashed into his head, with different intentions.

"Harry," she had lectured. "You'll never be able to fight off You-Know-Who if you don't even pass the first year!"

"Harry," James said aloofly. "Moldy-wart's out there, yes. But if you just concentrate on the tests, he'll go away. Nobody wants to be around Snape at exam time."

Their advice was easier said than done. The days were smolderingly hot on the days of the written exams. The special Anti-Cheat quills scratched on parchment for hours that felt like days, and Harry simply couldn't concentrate. His scar twinged every time Quirrell walked past, and all but exploded whenever he made direct contact with him. It took a substantial amount of constitution just to hand the tall, paling professor his test. Snape stared at him as he took his test, as if daring him to cheat. Flitwick almost kicked Harry out in lieu of going to the Hospital Wing; he thought Harry had Dragon Pox or was cracking under the pressure.

There was the understatement of the year.

The finals had practical exams as well. Although Harry was dreading this at first, they proved to be something of a pressure release valve, as Travis put it. McGonagall would watch as they turned mice into snuffboxes, and gave points for prettiness (something James' lacked, as his turned black and grew lightning bolt patterns) while taking points away if they had whiskers. Neville's didn't just have whiskers, but a tail and a small, black button nose. Snape made them brew a low level sleeping potion, and nearly killed Seamus Finnegan when his exploded. Flitwick was the easiest, as he merely wanted them to make a pineapple tap dance. James did so and took it a step further, making it break dance before moshing its way down the hall, waltzing with Clare Stovold, and bearing applause from the other students. Flitwick was so impressed he immediately gave James an Outstanding grade.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered as they walked out of Charms. "That final exam just about killed me…"

"Not me," James grinned as he tucked his quill behind an ear. "Easier than getting rid of 'Norbert.'"

The others laughed and continued marching down the corridor as Harry abruptly froze. His scar tingled painfully as he realized something woefully out of place about the dragon.

Wasn't it a little too convenient that Hagrid had always wanted a dragon, and then a stranger, a _mysterious_ one at that, just shows up and happily "loses" an very rare egg to him? One of the rarest dragons in the world… and it literally falls into Hagrid's lap.

"Hey, I'm off to a Music Club meeting," Brian announced. "See you guys in the Common Room."

"See you man!" James and Travis waved; they looked the happiest any of them had been in days.

"What are you two so smiley about?" Hermione asked as she clawed her hair.

"Are you kidding me?" James asked. "That was the easiest test I ever took, and now it's over. Wait, what's the matter, Hare?"

"Hagrid."

"Huh? What happened?"

"Don't you think it's a little suspicious that all Hagrid wants is a ruddy dragon, and then he just so happens to _get_ one? And one of the rarest at that?"

James narrowed his eyes. "What are you getting at? The dragon left two months ago."

"It just so happens that Harry has a point," Hermione conceded. "It does seem fishy, doesn't it?"

"So… you think he was set up?"

"That's exactly what I think."

Thirty seconds later James was dragging Harry by the arm towards Hagrid's hut, the other three following at a dead run. Harry and James pounded on Hagrid's door for what seemed like ages and all but roared for him to come out.

"What's the matter?" Hagrid grumbled as he opened the door. He looked like he was ripped from a good nap.

"The man you got Norbert from," James started, winded.

"What did he look like?" Harry gasped, finishing.

Hagrid's head shot back a little in deep thought as he curled his lip. "Dun' know really, he had a cloak up. Drank Russian ale mixed wit' somethin' silvery-Oh, no…"

"What, Hagrid?"

"It reminded me o' somethin', and now… it was like unicorn blood."

"Like unicorn's blood?" Hermione asked quizzically.

"Yeah… oh dear… you dun' think-?"

"Oh I think alright," James muttered, gripping his hair desperately. "Hagrid, has there been any unicorn deaths lately? What does unicorn blood do, exactly?"

"Yeah," Hagrid answered. "Been a few deaths here 'n there, and me and Fang been checkin' in on it. Firenze, a centaur I know, said it was You-Know-Who. Unicorn blood is precious and pure. Any who drink it are given new life, no matter how close ter death they are. But it comes at a price, a ghastly price. Their blood is pure, like I said, and it is a crime 'gainst nature ter drink it."

"Drink it?" Travis asked, looking sick. "Gross!"

"What?" James and Travis chorused. "What did you talk to him about? I want to know everything!"

"Well, he been saying that the stars are all washed up and dangerous lookin'. And then he went on about the unicorns, and how their deaths been bad for the forest. And then he said it was You-Know-Who."

"Voldemort…"

"Don't say his name!" Ron hissed, shaking.

"Shut up," James sighed. "Did you tell him anything?"

"Well, we talked about creatures fer a while after I won that egg. He seemed very interested in the pets I owned over the years, 'especially Fluffy."

James felt a trickle of dread rush down his spine. Hagrid, as pure as his intentions were, could never hold a secret, no matter how costly. "What did you tell him about Fluffy?"

"Oh, all about 'im! How he likes bein' scratched behind the ears on his middle head, and how any music puts him right ter sleep- oh, I never said that!"

"No, you did," James cursed. "Hagrid!"

"If you can't keep your mouth shut about this to us, who knows who he spouted it off to!"

"We gotta tell Dumbledore!"

* * *

Harry and James tore down the Transfiguration corridor as McGonagall walked out of her office.

"Professor!" Harry hollered at McGonagall. "Professor McGonagall!"

The old witch looked up at the two over a pile of books in her arms. Her green robes were rumpled from a hazardous day of testing, and her pointy witch hat was curling limply to the side.

"Yes, yes, what is it, Potter?"

"We need to see Dumbledore," Harry explained.

McGonagall looked down at them suspiciously. "Whatever for?"

"Snape-"

Harry's answer was cut off by James delivering a sharp kick in the shin.

"It's kinda secret," James shrugged nonchalantly.

McGonagall didn't like this answer. Her nostrils flared and she bore icy holes into James' forheadforehead. "Dumbledore left ten minutes ago. He had more important business with the Minister then to talk to two first year students."

"What?" James asked. How could he be seeing the Minister?

"He's gone, Potter. Now, you can tell me what is so important-"

"The Philosopher's Stone," Harry explained. James cursed at Harry in his head. She didn't need to know that they knew. "It's going to be stolen. We must tell Dumbledore!"

McGonagall stared at them down her nose,nose; her spectacles making her look that much more dangerous. Of course, she gave them the look after the fact that she dropped her texts in a surprised shout. Funny or not, it was still intimidating. "I dare ask how two first year students know of such a thing? It matters not, as I can assure you, the Stone is very well protected. No mere thief can simply waltz in and take it."

"I'm telling you," James urged. "It's going to get nicked!"

"And I'm telling you that it is perfectly safe! Now, when the Headmaster returns from the Ministry, I will tell him of your… espionage. Until then, I think it fit that you two think about what you have done. Go outside."

"Gladly," James seethed as he walked away, Harry not far behind.

Harry had never seen James so angry. His fists were balled, and then released. Balled, released. His jaw worked and a vein was popping from his temple. The fires in his eyes were fierce and mean, and Harry could tell that James would have liked to kill McGonagall on the spot if he could.

"Her arrogance is her falling," James finally uttered. "She couldn'tannot see what's right in her face if it smacked her with it'sits-"

"So you think it's gonna happen tonight too?"

"Oh yeah. Dumbledore was given a fake letter. Dad himself said in his letter this morning that Fudge wasn't going to be at the Ministry today because of an International Summit. Dumbledore was tricked."

"So… Snape-"

"Or someone else," James reminded, as said Professor came walking down the hall.

"Is going after it tonight."

"It makes the most sense," James whispered as Snape walked into earshot. "No one in the halls, all asleep, and if it _is_ a professor…"

"… Then he could easily get away with it without ever being suspected."

"Get Ron and Hermione ready, and tail Snape. We're going out tonight."

"Well, well, well… what _are_ the illustrious Twins Potter doing inside this stuffy castle on such a nice day?"

Harry's scar rippled in pain, and James gave him a concerned look as he almost buckled.

"Nothing, Professor," James answered carefully. "Just on our way out. Had to… uh… drop some things off at the common rooms."

Snape gave James a withering stare. "As I recall, the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw common rooms are on the other side of the castle. Why are you lying?"

"Lying? To you? Who would ever do such a thing, sir? I'm much too scared of you to lie straight to your face. Besides, Peeves was screaming at some girl named Myrtle, and was flooding a hallway, so we came around this way."

Snape seemed to give James' reply a quick, but calculating think over before he smiled at the thought of being scary and walked off, not saying a word more.

"That was _too_ close," James muttered.

* * *

As soon as Brian got out of his music club meeting, James and Travis told him all about their meeting with Hagrid. He immediately dropped his guitar and punched the table. "No way! Why can't Hagrid ever keep his mouth shut?"

"We're doing it tonight," James said. "Tonight is the night, I know it. Snape, or whoever it is, is doing it tonight."

"So you basically want all six of us to jump in after him, go through all the tests that the other professors set up to defend this thing, and then magically expect us to stop him? If it is Snape, then I daresay that he is a fully fledged wizard, and we're kids."

"Six kids," Travis reminded Brian. "He's outnumbered."

"Yeah," James agreed. "Even if one of us dies, there will still be five of us."

"That's comforting."

"Look, just because it may be Snape and he may kill us doesn't change a thing. We need to stop him, and if Dumbledore can't, and McGonagall won't, then we have to."

"This is insane."

"Would you not have it another way?"

* * *

The three of them sat in the common room, waiting for it to clear out. James hoped that it would clear out by ten, like usual. That was when they were to meet Harry, Ron, and Hermione. But if Desmond kept talking James ear off…

"Seriously, James, if we beat Gryffindor in this next match, we go five and… and…"

"Oh and one?"

"Yeah," Desmond nodded eagerly. "Five and oh and one. We need you to be on the top of your game. We need to win this! It's either us or Gryffindor going undefeated this year, and you promised me it would be us. You need to live up to that."

"I will."

"Alright," Desmond nodded again and stood up. Stretching and yawning, he turned and made up to the dorms. "I'll see you in practice tomorrow. Five in the evening?"

"I'll be there!" James agreed pseudo-happily, giving Desmond a thumbs up.

"God, how many times did he have to repeat 'You have to be on top of your game'?"

"I dunno, but the common room is cleared out. Let's go," James muttered as he stood.

The three were just about to leave the door when-

"Where do ye three think yer going?" a girl's voice quiet voice rang loud in James' ears.

"Oh… hi Emma."

The Irish girl's face was twisted in determination, something that looked out of place on her usual shy demeanor. "Ye are not going anywhere," she declared as she lifted her wand shakingly. "Ye are not costing Ravenclaw any more points."

"Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart," Travis arrogantly said. "But we have all made enough points to make up for any deficit and then some."

"No," she muttered, faltering. "I don't care. Ye ain't gonna go and make Ravenclaw look a bunch of-"

"Bunch of what?" Brian accused. "Simpering, spineless bookworms, like you?"

"That's enough," James demanded.

"Ye ain't goin' oot!" she screamed, her accent being overcome by obvious fear. "I mean it!"

"And what are you gonna do?" Travis asked snidely. "Turn us into a bunch of dust bunnies like you did to that piece of parchment in Charms class today? Face it; you're like Neville; close to being a Squib."

"I ain't not!"

"Look, Travis," Brian chuckled evilly. "She can't even talk right anymore!"

"You shut it, both of you! She has done nothing wrong!"

"_Nothing_, Jimmy Dean? She has made _us_ late to class so that _we_ could stick up for _her_, spurns _your_ attempts at friendship, and then turns around and insults us! And now _she_ has a wand pointed at _you_! And _you're_ telling _me_ she hasn't done _anything_ wrong?"

"Just because she is afraid of sticking up for herself does not make her a target of insult," James reminded him. "She is scared of having friends, just like _you where_, remember?"

Travis glared at James, ready to snap him in half. "Don't you ever bring that up in my face again! I am not proud of what I was back then, and don't you forget it!"

"I haven't forgotten it, Trav. None of us have. But just because she reminds you of yourself-"

"She doesn't! She doesn't bully people, she doesn't beat them up, and she doesn't-"

"-She doesn't know how to make friends? How to trust someone? How to let people in? Cannot control herself in a socially pressuring situation? Brian, doesn't that sound pretty… familiar?"

Brian looked between his two best friends and shook his head. "Sorry, dude. But Jimmy Dean is right," he tapped his shoulder. "I remember what you were like before we all met. And she is a lot like you. When you were like that, I mean. Sorry, Emma."

"I can't believe you two! We're supposed to be friends!"

"This is what friends are for, Travis. Emma, whether you or her like it or not, is standing up for a reason. She's concerned. She is a friend."

Emma, who had been staring at the three in shock as the they duked it out, looked wary.

"Emma, I know you're concerned, but we need to go," James addressed her as he raised his wand. "You have a choice; stay here, body-bound and under a couch until we get back or you can come with us."

"Come with us!?" Travis and Brian roared, but James waved them off.

"But why can't I just stay here?"

"Because if we just let you go, you'll go to Flitwick. We can't have that, it's too important."

"What's too important?"

James grinned. She was intrigued, and he had her. "We'll explain along the way."

* * *

Harry and Ron looked up as the four appeared around the bend. "What took you so long?"

James nodded his head at Emma. "Got held up for a bit."

Harry stared at the three. They all looked tense and wary of each other, as if they had had an argument. Long gone was the cheery banter from that afternoon. Travis was glaring at James, who was ignoring him. Brian was absently fiddling with his robes, looking at his feet. And Emma… she was being Emma- shy, faltering, and unassuming. Harry thought it best to ignore their angst; nosing into their squabbles never ended well.

"Yeah, so did we."

"What happened?"

"Neville happened," Ron snorted. "Hermione had to put him in a full Body Bind-" Emma winced- "And we had to leave him on the floor."

"Well, that was unfortunate. Does he at least understand?"

"No, but he will."

"And then we hit Peeves."

"Yeah, and Harry had a total you moment of James Dean brilliance, and we got by him."

James nodded in understanding. He and the Weasley twins had had to come up with ideas to get past Peeves before.

"You find something musical?" Harry asked, wanting to get on with it.

Brian held up his guitar. "Totally."

"Good," Harry breathed. "I take it Emma is up to speed?"

Travis begrudgingly shrugged. "We told her."

"Okay. I'm surprised you brought her along."

"Long story," the three chorused with unease, nothing at all like their usual happy selves. Harry frowned, but still ignored them.

"Let's go, then."

The six of them walked into the corridor on the third floor with unease. The growling of Fluffy rumbled down the hall and Emma jumped; she wasn't ready to see another monster. Brian held a hand tyo her shoulder and squeezed, and they continued on.

"Looks like Snape's already beaten us," Ron motioned to the door. "It's ajar."

James snorted. "You've been expanding you vocabulary, Ron. I'm impressed."

"Shut it."

James peeked inside the cracked door and quickly scanned the inside. Fluffy was staring at him bestially, and James himself almost squeaked. He wasn't ready to see Fluffy, it seemed, either. The things three heads moved of their own accord and their jaws snapped and growled at him menacingly. Foamy white ropes of slobber dripped from the fangs as the rancid breath swung them to and fro along the wrinkly lip. Beady orange eyes seaered at James from six different orbs, as if appraising a piece of meat.

James shuddered, realizing that to the Cerberus, he _was_ a piece of meat. Or maybe more like a Wish Bone. Yeah, dog treat fit the bill a whole lot better.

"Dogs? I hate dogs," he muttered as he looked for the trap door. It lay beneath the freak-dog's left paw, and shattered harp next to it. "I'm totally killing the next Chihuahua I see."

"What?"

"Nothing… nothing… You were right, Ron. Snape or whoever was here first. There's a poor little dead harp in there that was made into a chew toy."

"So am I gonna play or not?" Brian asked as he slung the acoustic guitar over his shoulder. "I got a special tune just for him."

James nodded. "I'll crack the door, you start playing."

Brian nodded himself and James cracked the portal. Brian hit the first notes of song, slow and mournful and heartbroken. His fingers ran up and down the strings as they vibrated against the worn fret board. James opened the door even more and watched in fascination as the pooch's heads drooped as its eyes closed.

James, Harry, and Travis quickly recognized the song Brian was playing. The tune was melodic and sad; the opening riffs of the Metallica song Fade to Black. James couldn't help but wonder if the song was symbolic; was he committing suicide if Snape killed him on this damned foolish crusade?

James shook the thought out of his head with a jerk. He and Harry made to move Fluffy's enormous paw as it covered the trapdoor. Grunting, the two of them tried to lift it, but they only succeeded in illiciting a growlish snort from the closest head.

"Move," Travis urged as he and Ron took over. He and Ron lifted it a little easier, and within moments had the door open.

"So…" Travis started. "Who's going first?"

"I will," James volunteered. He peeked through the hole and saw nothing but blackness. "Here goes."

He lowered himself into the hole and let go. He fell for a few seconds before landing on something soft and slightly warm, like a heated blanket. He felt something leafy and smelled a strong earthy aroma, like one of Professor Sprout's greenhouses.

"It's good, come on down!"

Emma landed next to him and he helped her to her feet. Next came Hermione, Ron, and Harry, all of them quickly getting their bearings.

"Travis, Brian! Get down here!"

"Coming!" Travis said as he fell through.

Brian had stopped playing the guitar. James saw his legs appear in the hole before they abruptly disappeared.

"Get it off! Get it off!"

"Brian, what's happening?"

"The dog's got me! Jimmy Dean, help me!"

* * *

Dundundun...


	19. Chapter 19: The End of the Beginning

Okay, guys, here it is. The final chapter. I'm going out of this one the way I came, so here it goes.

I write this chapter smoking Pall Mall Blues, sipping a banana-peach-orange smoothie made with milk and honey, working evening and midnight shifts at a gas station, forgoing my college class's homework just to write it. It's a couple thousand miles to Scotland, but I don't have to worry about these damned high gas prices, 'cause dammit, Clare, Sailor, Master Solo, November21, and Reyrayankar, we're on a broom!

**Recommended** **Listening**: That Was Just Your Life

**Artist**: Metallica!

**Album**: Death Magnetic

* * *

James, ever cool, ever smooth, forever calm under pressure, naturally panicked.

"What do I do?!"

"Get it off! Get it off!" Brian screamed helplessly from above.

"I'm com- oof!"

Something tight grabbed James' ankle and would not let go. It seemed the plant-like thing was a keeper.

"Dude, what has our ankles?"

"My arms!"

"Devil's Snare!" Hermione gasped.

"What?" James asked, pulling his arms from the vine vice grips at his wrists.

"Devil's Snare, I read about it in our Herbology books! It's afraid of light and heat! Oh, if only we had fire!"

"Then make some!" Harry roared as he struggled.

"I would, but I don't have any wood!"

"Wood? Wood!?" Travis thundered. "Girl, you're a witch! Act like one!"

"Oh… right… Incendio!"

Bluebell flames erupted from her wand and shot around the twisting ropes of foliage. Before the fire even reached the leaves, the plant had rescinded its touch, and the six fell. Something like a screech was heard, and another form fell from above, covered in slobber.

"I get now why he's called 'Fluffy,'" Brian gasped as he flung ropy tendrils of silver spittle from his robes. "Dog ain't more evil than a freakin' Chihuahua."

"Dude," James screamed. He ran over and almost hugged him, but jerkingly backed off, patting him on the head. "You're alright!"

"If you count 'getting licked like a doggy lollipop' alright, then yeah."

"So you're fine?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," James affirmed as Brian stood up. "Where are we?"

"Some cavern in the middle of the school," Hermione noted.

She wasn't far from the truth. The tunnel they were in reminded James of the winding tunnels of Gringotts, only less windy. The floor sloped down a bit, and the yellow-gray granite was illuminated by flickering torches.

"Reminds me of Gringotts," Ron affirmed as he himself stood up.

A loud gulping sound resounded off the narrow walls. "Y-ye dun think there's- there's a dragon here do ye? '?'Cause- because Gringotts' got one and-"

"I doubt it," Travis assured her. "There isn't any room in Hogwarts for a dragon, even if it is big."

Comforted, Emma nodded and they got underway. The hallway was long and continuously narrow. The floor was laid in wood that was worn and dusty and looked like it came from the Dark Ages. James and Harry walked at the front, with Ron, Hermione, Brian and Travis behind them following closely. Emma stayed in the back, looking from left to right suspiciously, as if the walls were about to jump out at her.

The door at the end of the hall opened up to reveal a room of glittering winged… keys.

"Keys?" Brian asked incredulously. "A bunch of friggin' keys?"

"Looks like it," James muttered as he walked in. He looked up at the flying keys, and then at the door. Putting two and two together, he nodded. "We gotta catch the right one."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious."

"Shut up, Travis," Harry reprimanded. He pointed at a key with a broken, bent wing. "Thatone! The oldish looking one with the buggered up wing. That's the one we need to catch."

"How do we do that exactly?"

James snorted. "Elementary,dearElementary, dear Weasley. The brooms over there by the door."

"But there are only four of them," Hermione noted. "Who is going to fly?"

"Well, since me and James are on the quidditch teams, we should. And Emma and Travis are the next best, so…"

"So it sounds like a plan," James said as he mounted the old Cleansweep. Travis was close behind him, Emma and Harry both grabbing a broom as well. Emma looked worried, as if she was taking a test she had forgotten to study for. However, upon kicking off, she had resumed that natural grace she exhibited during flight lessons.

As soon as they were up, they were immediately swarmed by the keys. James could barely see through the silvery, floppy haze.

"Gerrof!"

"Gah! Stupid keys!"

"Guys," James rallied. "Get it together! It's going up!"

"I got it!" Harry roared as he shot up. "James and Travis, go to the sides! Emma, cover the bottom and keep it up, I'll catch it!"

Harry was not made Seeker for nothing. He circled around high as Travis and James patrolled the middle, ready to swoop out and catch the bird key. Ron hovered low, keeping a keen eye on it. Harry chased the key off and on, playing cat and mouse with it. Ron and Hermione gasped and awed whenever he came close to catching it, and cursed when he lost it. Brian simply cleaned dirt from under his fingernails, bored.

"Stupid brooms. I should totally be up there, but _no_, I just _have_ to be-"

"Go Harry, go! Left! _Left_!"

"On it!"

Harry pivoted up slightly, and then dived as the key hurtled down. James and Travis moved out of the way, and Harry came up, the flapping the key struggling in his fist. "Got it!"

The four jumped off of their brooms, and the group quickly charged into the next chamber. A massive chess board greeted their eyes, filled with mute pieces standing guard.

"Dude, we gotta play chess?" Brian asked. "Awesome!"

The tall black King turned and nodded, motioning to the board.

"Wait," Hermione chuckled nervously. "We have to be a piece?"

The black King nodded again, and the Bishops, Rooks, Knights, and the Queen all left the board and stood to the side, resuming their stoic stances.

"Okay," Ron nodded. "I'll take a Knight, and Travis will too. James and Harry, you two take the places of the Bishops. Brian and Hermione, you'll be the Rooks. Emma, you can be the Queen."

They all silently got into their spots, except Travis. "Who died and made you king of the chess board?"

"He did," James snapped. "When he kicked all our butts at Wizarding Chess."

Travis shut his mouth and hopped on top of his horse piece. Ron quickly began directing the pieces, and within minutes all of the Pawns were blasted to bits. The long line of white chess pieces loomed larger and larger as the game progressed, and Ron finally called James' Bishop to move forward. As soon as he did, though…

"Right Bishop to E-Three," Ron ordered in a quivering voice. James really couldn't understand why; he was in place to take the opposing King. James wasn't at all good at chess, but still… that was good, right?

"Geez, Ron, don't act like I'm about to die."

The white Queen moved up to the adjacent square to his. She reared back, ready to swing-

"Wait, Ron, that Queen is gonna _kill_ me! Don't tell me you-"

With a loud, earth shattering BOOM, James' world went black. As he lost consciousness, all he could hear over the annoying ring in his ears was Ron simpering, "Sorry, mate…"

* * *

"James!" Harry roared as the white King's sword fell from his clasped grip and clattered to the floor. Travis and Brian had both been blown away too, but all Harry could see was James. His twin brother, thrown to the checkered floor in a heap… "James, get up!"

"They're down, mate," Ron urged as he pulled Harry up. "We need to move on. Emma can stay and watch over them."

Emma nodded urgently and immediately knelt at James' side. She placed a hand on his shoulder and urged them on, promising to watch over them, or so Harry thought; her rambling voice wasn't very intelligible.

"Alright…"

Ron and Hermione led him through to the next door. It was just a table with seven bottles and a piece of paper. But as soon as they crossed over the threshold, a blazing purple fire erupted in the door back while a black fire took up the forward door, trapping them. Ron tried to look brave, but still let off a small whimper.

Hermione herself gulped, but picked up the piece of parchment. With an officious voice, she recited what was written. "_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_ _Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_ _One among us seven will let you move ahead,_ _Another will transport the drinker back instead,_ _Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_ _Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line._ _Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,_ _To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_ _First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_ _You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;_ _Second, different are those who stand at either end,_ _But if you would move onwards neither is your friend;_ _Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_ _Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_ _Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_ _Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._"

"What the bloody hell does that mean?"

"It's logic, Ronald," Hermione explained, as if lecturing a five year old not to fight over a biscuit.

"Logic?"

"Yes, logic. Look, you two- it's a riddle! Logic is something even the most brilliant of wizards might never have!"

"Well, that's just great," Harry spat. "James was always great with riddles."

"Yes," James' voice pierced through the chamber. "I always was great at riddles. Thanks for that vote of confidence, bro."

* * *

All James felt as he came back to the world of the living was the incessant ringing in his ears. And then he felt the pounding of his pulse in his temple, accompanied by the skull-splitting migraine ebbing from the base of his neck. Groaning, he sat up and felt the weight of a small hand on his shoulder.

"Oh," Emma choked. "James, ye're awake!"

"Yeah… where's Harry?"

"He and the other two went on. Ye and Travis and Brian were-"

"Brian and Travis were hurt!? I'll kill Ron!" James screamed as he ran scrambled to his brothers. They had been pulled off to the side by a pair of half-shattered Pawns, who stood guard over them as if they were royalty. They refused to budge when James urged them to, and from Emma's rambling, they had every right to. After James had bit the dust, the white Queen was ready to end the game in a Check situation. Travis and Brian had both sacrificed themselves to allow Harry to checkmate the white King…

James hated it when they made him sentimental.

"They'll be fine, where's the Stone?"

"Uh…"

"Dammit! Stay here, watch the other two!"

The pawns snapped a quick salute as James staggered up and tore for the door. As soon as he opened he almost screamed in surprise. The troll from the Halloween feast was passed out on the floor, rubble strewn about on the floor. This had to have been Quirrell's method of defense. Snape would have had an insanely easy time getting through it, considering that a group of eleven years were capable of incapacitating it. What was he thinking?

"Not that I think Snape is the one trying to get the Stone, anyway," James tersely reminded himself.

He edged his way past the slumbering hulk of the troll and kicked the door shut behind him. He was shocked, once again, when he saw his next obstacle. Purplish flames licked their way up to the roof of the next threshold, blocking his way. Somehow, they seemed familiar…

"Pixie flames?" He muttered stupidly, trying to remember what Flitwick had said about them. "Pixie flames are made from the contact between pixie wing dust-dragon scale mesh and oxygen… and the only way to get through them are to wait for them to disperse, drink a Fire-Proof Potion, wait for them to disperse… or negate the air to dust mixture with blood…"

James really, really didn't want to cut his body up. But the only way through, it seemed, was to do so. "Here goes," he steeled himself and brought his wrist to his mouth. Biting down hard, he felt his canines tear brutishly into his veins. He groaned again with the effort, but remained composed enough to lash his blood on the fire. It didn't go out, but it died down enough to allow him to pass.

He jumped over the blaze and ripped a piece of his cloak off, wrapping it around his wrist a few times. Harry, Ron, and Hermione never heard or saw him stumble into the room.

"It's logic, Ronald," Hermione explained, holding a piece of parchment under his nose and looked like an impatient teacher.

"Logic?" Ron asked stupidly, looking at the yellow paper stupidly.

"Yes, logic. Look, you two- it's a riddle! Logic is something even the most brilliant of wizards never have!"

"Well, that's just great," Harry spat, punching the table. "James was always great with riddles."

"Yes," James grunted. "I always was great at riddles. Thanks for that vote of confidence, bro."

"James?"

"Who else, Oprah?

"You're awake!"

"Yes, well, even though I thought it was nice to take a nap, I figured that since this was so important, I would make an exception."

"Quit being smart and get over here and be smart," Harry snapped. "Help Hermione figure this out."

"No."

"What?"

"I just got knocked around by a chess piece. I probably have a concussion."

"And that makes you less smart?" Harry pressured. "You're James, always great with riddles. You're smart."

"So are you, and last I checked, Hermione is better than me in all classes."

"Two minds are better than one," Hermione pointed out. She held out the parchment.

James limped over to the table and snatched the piece of paper from Hermione's trembling grasp. He rubbed his temple. Travis and Brian's, stupid, idiotic, illogical, heart-warming self-sacrifice was ringing in his head as he tried to piece together the puzzle. The pounding in his brain didn't help, either.

"Okay…" James breathed as Hermione peeked over his shoulder, "The poisons are on the left sides of the nettle wines…"

"So one poison is here," Hermione stated, pointing at the right end bottle. "And what is the other one…?"

"The nettle wines are the second bottles on either side."

"So then the Fire-Blocker Potion to go back is the bottle on the far left!"

"And the forward-going bottle is…"

"The third from the right!" Hermione screeched as she snatched the spherical orange-gold flask. "Black Fire Potion!"

James yanked it from her and regarded it. He popped the cork and gave the steaming contents a whiff. Gagging, he gave it back to Hermione. It smelled horrible, and left his nostrils numb.

"Man, that crap reeks."

"So now we can move on?" Ron asked eagerly. He had been looking antsy and was fidgeting the entire time James and Hermione were deducing.

"Not hardly," Harry groaned as he himself scrutinized the bottle. "There's barely enough for a one-person swig in this thing."

Hermione and James shot each other odd looks. Hermione knew that James was too hurt to be the one who confronted Snape. James knew Hermione didn't have it in her to go at a Hogwarts professor. Ruefully, they looked at Ron: "Ron ain't it," they chorused.

"Then I guess it'll be me," Harry muttered as he popped the cork, held his nose, and downed the flask's viscous, icy liquid before anyone else could object. He screwed his face in distaste, and then shook his head. "Ugh!"

"What's it like?"

"Icy," Hermione answered. "Don't you pay attention in Potions?"

"Not ever since I read our book for the fifth time."

Despite the jokes, James, for the first time in his life, honestly felt scared. He always thought that when that moment came when he was so scared he thought he'd wet his pants, it would come because of something he did, and not his twin. Harry was the responsible, compassionate, gentle one who never got in trouble (or so it seemed,) and for James to sit out on the sidelines, while he went charging face first into the fire and brimstone?

James was scared not for himself, rather for his truest brother.

"This isn't how it's supposed to be."

Harry put on a fake, "I'm totally James right now," smirk. "I'll be fine. The good 'ole scar'll protect me," he laughed nervously.

If Harry was anything, it wasn't a convincing actor. James pulled Harry into the fiercest man hug he could muster and muttered, "Give 'im Hell, kid."

* * *

"Give him hell, Harry," James breathed into his neck. Thumping him on the back, James pulled himself from the embrace, but held to his shoulders. "And remember, if he disarms you-"

"Go for the sack," Harry finished, grinning genuinely this time.

James shrugged and produced a homemade knife from his back pocket. "I was gonna say use Travis' old streets-of-New York-tested shank on him, but that works, too," he chuckled, shoving the shank into Harry's palm and forcibly curling his fingers around it. "Take care of it; that thing's important to us."

"A knife is important to you?" Ron asked, shocked.

"Yes," James snapped. "That thing is how me, Travis, and Brian all first met each other, and it has saved our skins a lot. So don't lose it."

"Travis, Brian, and I," Hermione corrected, sniffling at the "touching" moment. She hugged Harry and wiped her nose, James trying to act disgusted.

"Shut it and back off," James growled. "I'm revealing a part of my past to the little children."

"Wow," Harry awed, touched. "You have never talked about how you three met before."

"It was at the meanest of times, so it's only natural," James averted. "Just… be careful."

Harry nodded before tossing the flask to James. "Keep them safe," he nodded at Ron and Hermione. "Those kids can't behave themselves."

James laughed at the joke. "Yes, dear," he snorted back, even while fear crept up his mousy face. The last thing Harry saw before disappearing into the flames were James' green eyes, so similar to his, etched in angst, horror, and apprehension.

Harry had never seen his brother look like that in his four years of knowing him; it was unnerving. But not as unnerving as what greeted his eyes after he emerged from the flames. No, nothing was quite as disconcerting as…

"Quirrell? Not Snape, but Professor _Quirrell_?"

The tall, deathly thin man was standing before the all too familiar Mirror of Erised. He turned on his heel and coolly regarded Harry. "Yes, Potter. Me," Quirrell replied calmly. "I was wondering if I'd get the honor of meeting you here, curious little cat that you are."

"A-and you aren't stuttering."

"N-n-n-no, I'm not."

"But- I thought-Snape-"

"Severus Snape?" Quirrell laughed with disregard. "The loyal lapdog certainly does seem the type, doesn't he? It was so, so, so convenient to have him snooping around like an overbearing guard dog protecting his master's treasures. Seems like he has more in common with that oaf's stupid three-headed dog than any would admit, wouldn't you agree? While he was off making enemies with you and your worthless twin-"

"James is far from useless!"

"-Nobody would suspect that p-p-poor st-st-stuttering Professor Q-Q-Q-Quirrell would ever be so ambitious as to go after the _Philosopher's Stone_."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. This couldn't be true! James couldn't have been right! He couldn't!

"But Snape tried to kill me!"

Quirrell snorted derisively. "No, I did. Your tirelessly heroic twin and Little Miss Perfect Granger stopped me, all but threw me off the side of the benches. I lost my eye contact with you and your broom as Snape was set on fire with the Faerie Fire. Your brother's own doing, I assume. If I had a few more seconds… I would have had you killed. I would have gotten you even sooner, had it not been for Severus reciting a counter curse."

"Snape tried to save me?"

"Of course," Quirrell scoffed as he began pacing. "Why do you think he specifically requested to referee the match between you and James? And why he always seemed to follow you around, in particular? Why he had turned a blind-eye when he knew James and the Weasley twins drugged Filch's cat? The other teachers all thought he was trying to make Gryffindor lose everything, and I must say, he himself is to blame for it. He has made himself quite unpopular outside of the Slytherin circles, as we all know. But in reality… all he wanted was to save you, the children of his one true epitome of mixed emotions… And such a waste of time, I must now unregretfully say."

"'Unregretfully' isn't a word."

"Silence," Quirrell hissed as he snapped his fingers. Robes sprang from nothingness and wrapped themselves around Harry's body. "All that protective detail, just to have you die now."

Harry pulled at the ropes in vain, grunting at the effort.

Quirrell, tsked briskly, before shaking his head. "You're too nosy to be allowed to live. My master's in much too dire a need for a stupid group of First Years scampering around on Halloween night, and during Christmas, and down to Hagrid's. Curiosity killed the cat."

Quirrell laughed at his ongoing taunt. If only he knew how much James hated cats…

"For all I know, you saw me as I went to see that dog while the troll I let in wreaked-"

"You let that troll in?"

"Certainly. I have a certain affinity when it comes to trolls, I'll have you know. Of course you already know that, as you most definitely saw the troll back in that previous chamber. Bah, unfortunately, while all the others were off looking for it, Snape was on to me. He met face to face with the pooch, but I'm sad to say even it failed me. Failed to properly bite the greasy-haired git's leg off, that is."

At least the two of them could agree on something, even if it was the Slytherin Professor's hair…

"Now, be silent and wait while I examine this peculiar mirror…" He circled around the mirror, tapping his fingers to his lips thoughtfully. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this. Clever old insane bat, he's in London… I'll be long gone when he gets back."

All Harry could do was keep Quirrell talking. But how? He wasn't exactly the sliver tongued madman his twin was. What would James Dean say?

"_So, how 'bout them chess pieces?"_

"_What did that poor little winged key ever do to you? A bent wing could mean the end of its sad, sad life!"_

"_I hate cats, quit calling me a cat."_

"_So yesterday I was flirting with this one cute Hufflepuff girl when she happened to call you the world's barmiest git…"_

"_Oh, Professor Quirrell, is it simply not perfect weather for a stroll in the Forbidden Forest?"_

That was it! "Thanks, James," Harry muttered. "I saw you and Snape in the forest."

"Yes," Quirrell muttered idly as he continued to circle the mirror, his gaze never leaving its frame. "He was on to me by that time, I daresay."

_Please, I dare you,_ Harry thought.

"Trying to figure out how far I had gotten. Naturally, he suspected me all along, after I came back from my world tour… Tried to frighten me, but that merely enhanced my image as a poor _wittle_ hapless teacher with a slight social disorder. No, nothing could scare meoffme off, not when Lord Voldemort was at my side the whole way."

The air left Harry's lungs as his scar threatened to split his head open. He gasped from the pain, but Quirrell paid him no mind. He just continued to circle the mirror, rambling. "I see the stone, I see me presenting it to my master… But where is it?"

"But Snape seemed to hate me so much."

"Oh, he does," Quirrell replied casually, as if talking about the weather. "Heavens, yes, he does. He attended Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other then as they do now. But Snape never, ever wanted you dead."

Harry tried to let that sink in and still find a way to keep Quirrell's attention off of the mirror. Yet despite his efforts, he couldn't, the shock value was too high. Dad knew Snape? Hated him, even? Was that why Snape hated him, because he hated his father? But then, if that was true… why didn't he hate James so horribly, as well?

Harry struggled to come up with something, anything to clear his head and keep Quirrell talking. "So your master is Volde-"

"Do not dare say his name, boy," Quirrell sneered, finally showing emotion. "Yes, he is. He is a harsh master, and has called much upon me, but yet here we are, at the cusp of victory! Even after Gringotts, the Halloween disaster, and all the unicorn hunting, we are here. My master and . The man who will bring me to my rightful place of power."

Quirrell finally ignored Harry's attempts at conversation, at the behest of a hissing that made his head scream in a hot, searing pain. Finally, Quirrell cursed and sneered.

"I don't understand, is the Stone inside the mirror? Do I have to break it?"

Harry's mind raced. If he asked himself what James would do at that precise moment one more time, he would be leading himself to slaughter. All he wanted, at that moment and time, was to find the Stone and keep it out of Quirrell's hands. Out of _Voldemort's_ hands.

He tried to shimmy himself so that he could see into the mirror, but only succeeding in making himself fall over with an audible "Oof!"

Quirrell ignored him, still jabbering to himself. "What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

Never had Harry felt such terror in all his life. A voice came from Quirrell himself, it seemed, a voice so high, so cold, it sent shivers down his spine. "Use the boy."

Three words and Harry had felt the compulsion to wet himself. Instead, as Quirrell rounded on him, he steeled himself for what was about to happen. He wasn't going to piss himself from mere talk.

"Yes, you Potter, come here," Quirrell commanded, clapping his hands. The bonds gripping him disappeared and Harry stood, albeit reluctantly. Harry didn't step forward, so Quirrell grabbed his shirt and yanked him to the mirror.

Lie, Harry told himself. You have to lie, no matter what.

Quirrell stood closely behind him, so close he was almost touching. Harry could smell the odd aroma from his funny turban, and hear Quirrell's ragged, mad breathing. He could feel it creep down his neck in not warm, but chilly and bone-rattling gusts.

Harry stepped in front of the mirror, and saw nothing but himself at first, pale and terrified. But then, the image of himself winked and patted his left pant pocket, Harry's family materializing behind him. His father and mother, both healthy, both smiling, both walking, smiled encouragingly at him. James was grinning the lopsided smirk he had always worn when getting into trouble, and was mouthing something at him. Travis and Brian weren't even paying attention to him, both wrestling over some metal band t-shirt. And in the far back, holding each other, were his grandparents. Tall and thin and white-haired, Andrew Potter looked at him with pride and nodded. Gwen Potter looked at him tearfully, and smiled a sad smile that seemed to say, "I can't believe this is happening to you, I'm so sorry."

"What?"

"What what?" Quirrell asked impatiently, an insane glimmer in his eye as he himself popped into view of the mirror. "What do you see?!"

His grandmother looked up, as if she actually heard him. The look of sadness only deepened on her craggy face, and Harry couldn't bare looking anymore.

"Nothing," Harry lied. He had to lie. "Or, er, not nothing, but…"

"What is it? Tell me!"

"I see… my grandparents. They are proud. And I'm… I'm holding the House Cup in front of Dumbledore. Yeah, I'm Head Boy, and I'm Captain, and-"

"Get out of the way!" Quirrell shoved him out of his way and glared at the mirror.

"Lies!" the high, cold voice screamed, and Harry's scar twitched painfully. "He lies!"

Harry was about to defend himself, but shut his mouth. What was he supposed to say? Voldemort was onto him, and there was nothing he could say to deny it…

"Get back over here!" Quirrell grabbed Harry by the shirt again. His fingers grazed Harry's skin just momentarily, and smoke rose from his knuckles, but Quirrell didn't seem to notice. Did his touch burn him? "Tell me the truth!"

"Let me see him… face to face…"

"But master-You're too weak-"

"I have strength for this, Quirinus," the voice declared.

Quirrell hunched his shoulders and grabbed the folded end of the turban. Tugging it, he loosed the silky purple garment and shuffled it as if he was a cartoon character going through a stack of papers. The turban fell from his shoulders and pooled at the floor like a garish purple snake.

Harry felt as if he was back in the clutches of the Devil's Snare. He couldn't move a muscle, and felt the impending doom before he actually saw it; he was going to be face to face with Voldemort, the man who so desperately wanted to kill him.

This foresight did nothing to prepare him for what he was about to see. A horribly twisted face, with red eyes and a slitted snake-like nose was grafted to the back of Quirrell's head. The eyes looked tired and angry, and they glared at Harry with the intensity of a hung-over, abusive father. If Harry's scar had hurt before, it certainly paled in comparison to the nuclear bomb that went off under his forehead now.

"Harry… Potter…" Voldemort gasped, finding it hard to draw breath. "Do you see what… I… have become?"

Harry fell to his knees, and despite his best efforts, couldn't stand.

"Mere shadow… and vapor… I have no true form except when I share with a physical body not…. Of my… own… and there have always been those more than… willing to share… their hearts and… minds… like Quirinus here… Unicorn blood… only lasts one for so… long… It has… strengthened me for a while… but when Quirrell gets me… the Philosopher's Stone… the Elixer of Life… will bring me back… to true form. But… he will never get the Stone now… will he? So why don't… you spare him the embarrassments… give me that stone in your pocket…"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. How did he know? The revelation gave Harry the strength to finally move, so he stumbled backwards. Quirrell took a step backwards as well, keeping Voldemort's twisted face in sight of him.

"Don't be a fool," the Dark Lord chided. "Better to just save your own life… and join me… or you'll meet a worse fate than your filthy muggle mother… begging for mercy as I-"

"LIAR!" Harry screamed as he kept crawling backwards.

"How touching… I always admired bravery," Voldemort hissed as Quirrell continued walking backwards after him. "But you will never be your father, Harry… nor will you be your brother…"

"What do you mean!?"

"_Tsk_… It's… easy to see… your jealousy… of one James Dean… Potter. Always more clever… ever better grades… ever better sports player… ever more popular… ever more smarter… ever more-"

"Liar!"

"Come now… that wasn't nearly as strong… _was it_ Potter?"

Harry was about to scream it again when he felt the strings of his resolve tear. He had never thought of it before… James was better than him, wasn't he? He was always joking with the older students, always the center of the joke telling, and all the coolest people hung around him like bees to honey. And what was Harry? The quiet little Gryffindor, who should have been in Slytherin…

No. No! James was his twin, his _brother_, and Harry and he were equals. "Never! You are a liar, and I will never join you. NEVER!"

The face of Voldemort twisted itself more and screamed angrily. "Seize him!"

Quirrell responded to his master's order, and turned on his heel. He lunged for Harry, but he never got there, and Harry never knew why. The sounds of a struggle echoed in his ears, and flashes of wild, dark red hair flashed in his eyes, as well as a spectral form shooting out of Quirrell's body. Screams and the smell of burning flesh whiffed in his brain, and the last things Harry saw before succumbing to the merciful darkness was Quirrell's body falling to dust, and a short, smoking figure standing over him, his Metallica t-shirt burning itself out…

"Harry! HARRY!"

* * *

Sunlight pierced Harry's eyelids as he finally came to. Only, the sunlight was coming in flashes, like Morse code. As his vision finally came to him, he found that the flashing sunlight was coming from the half-moon spectacles of Dumbledore, who was grinning happily down at him.

"Good morning, Harry," Dumbledore greeted, a wide smile on his face and his signature twinkle in his eye.

"Sir!" Harry hollered, sitting up quickly. "The Stone! It was Quirrell! Quirrell got the Stone!"

"Please calm yourself down, my boy. I assure you that the Stone has been taken care of."

"You mean it was… destroyed?"

"Simply put; yes."

"But doesn't that mean Flamel will die?"

"Yes. But do not fear, it was destroyed because he wanted it to be."

"He wants to die?"

"I believe so, yes. You see, Harry, to the well-organized mind, death is just the next great adventure. He has lived a very long time, and over centuries. It's his time, and I was more than glad to help an old friend."

Harry slumped back into his pillow. In order to distract himself, he looked around. He was in the Hospital wing, lines of sterile white linen beds surrounding him.

"But how did Voldemort not get it? It was in my pocket, and then Voldemort knew-"

Dumbledore grinned an ecstatically and interrupted him. "Please calm yourself down, Harry. If you don't, Madame Pomfrey may be given an excuse to show me the door."

Harry tried to do so, and settled his gaze on his bedside table, which was piled high with sweets of all kinds. Chocolate Frogs and Every Flavor Beans and Cauldron Cakes were strewn into an odd mountain of teeth-rotting delight, topped by a large basket filled with rectangular bars he had never seen before. Snickers, Hershey's, Milky Ways, and Laffy Taffy's filled the wicker basket, and a card with three distinct forms of handwriting was tied to the handle.

_You showed that s-st-stuttering idiot, bro! Get well SOON! –Travis_

_Just remember it was my guitar picking and getting slobber-covered that got you in there in the first place. –Brian_

_Sorry about the last match, bro. Have a Hershey's bar to make up for it; they're the best. At least they don't squirm in your mouth… -James Dean_

Harry picked up one of the flat, wide bars and looked at it curiously.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," Dumbledore explained happily. "I'm a personal favorite of the Weasley's, but your brothers certainly… uh… topped the cake, perhaps?"

They shared a laugh as Harry hungrily tore open a bar of the Hershey's and sank his teeth into it. It was very excellent chocolate, despite how boring it was. But the candy bar couldn't sate his thirst for knowledge of how exactly the night in the chambers came to pass.

"What happened?"

Dumbledore lazily turned his gaze back down to Harry and smiled. "Surely you noticed that when Professor Quirrell touched you, he burned?"

"Yeah."

"Well, when he was about to throttle you, you blacked out. Luckily, your brother had come to save your day. He had been watching the two of you go back and forth, waiting for the opportunity to save you. He noticed that when he touched you he started to burn, and assumed it would be the same with him; he assumed correct. His logic never ceases to amaze me…"

"And? What happened next?"

Dumbledore shook out of his reverie. "Ah, yes. He charged Quirrell, and tackled him down to the ground, making sure to grab a hold of as much bare skin as possible. Voldemort was so damagedscarred, he was forced to leave Quirrell's body."

"Wait… I remember that! As he left, Quirrell… he…"

"Fell into dust? That was because separating bonded souls properly involves some hefty spell work, Harry. To leave a host like that is like backing out of a dependant, mutual relationship. Quirrell's body was so infused with Voldemort's soul that to be separated on such short notice destroyed his own body, and soul."

"But sir, why did he burn?"

Dumbledore slapped his knee and leaned forward. "Tell me, Harry; what do you remember from the night that Voldemort attacked you and your family?"

"Not much… just a green light and a lot ofscreamingof screaming. What does that have to do with anything?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Thought as much, I did," he sighed. "Your ancestor, Armand Potter, the first noble Potter, and had put up many old magical spells on his old properties to protect his family as long as they were in said properties. This magic is what saved your parents, Harry. It is what saved you, and your brother."

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. He knew that Voldemort had failed to kill them, but he always assumed something went wrong, or his father had valiantly fought him off and made him a ghost. Never did he think that some kind of hokey old magic would save his life.

"How?"

"How? However do you expect me to answer, 'How?' I don't know a thing about ancient magic, however ancient I may be-" Harry suppressed a laugh- "And that, as they say… is that. I do know this, however," Dumbledore leaned forward again, and looked Harry very close in the eye. "That it wasn't exactly Armand's magic that saved you, Harry. It was love."

Harry snorted. "Love? I'm sorry if I find that hard to believe."

"Ah, for one as young as yourself it is only natural to not know the full value or range or power of the emotion called love. Your mother, ignorant of the fact that the Potter Family wards would inevitably save you regardless of what she did personally, sacrificed herself for you. That, though never fully coming to pass, brought along another form of ancient magic. A magic tied to your blood."

Harry lay there, in the bed dumbfounded, lost for words again. His parents had never told him exactly what happened that night, even when he asked. His father never talked of any old magic, and his mother never explained why she was in a wheelchair. Were the two linked? Uncle Sirius had said that a paraplegic couldn't have children, so she had to have been able to walk before he and James were born.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Can I ask some more questions? And get the truth?"

He didn't want that sugarcoated, gussied up version his parents would tell him, hiding the reality with white lies.

"The truth," Dumbledore stated, for the first time Harry had seen him sound dull. "Such a beautiful and terrible thing, the reality of things. Therefore, we must tread with caution into these waters you wish to explore, Harry. You know I will answer truthfully, and I will answer all questions lest I have a good reason not to, and I hope you understand why I can't. I beg of you not to loathe me for those I can't answer. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

Dumbledore raised his chin and thought hard. "It wasn't exactly Quirrell who couldn't touch you as much as it was Voldemort. You are protected by strong, strong magic, Harry. Magic that Voldemort shut himself off to, when he crossed the threshold of your home in Godric's Hollow. You are pure, and he is tainted. The magic of the Potter line has pegged him as a threat, and he will never get that burden off of his shoulders. With that magic in your veins, for him to even touch you was agony."

"And the Invisibility Cloak? Do you know who sent it to me?"

"Alas, I know him very well!" Dumbledore laughed, pointing his hands at his beard-covered heart. "It was I!"

"You?"

"Me. I borrowed it from your father around the time your family was attacked. I shamefully admit that in the fallout of Voldemort's downfall, we all forgot about it."

"Quirrell said Snape-"

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Yeah, him. He said he and my Dad hated each other. Why?"

"I must say that this is one of the questions I cannot answer, but not for one of the good reason's I originally thought of. It is not my place to explain your father's relationships, least not with his own son."

Harry nodded, knowing better than to argue. "Okay. But what you said about Mum, how she 'died' to save me, that it was love. You didn't explain completely why that…"

"Why that happened, exactly? Love is strong. Love is powerful. Your mother almost died because of her love for you. That's all I can say now. But someday… someday I will explain it to you. But not today. I hope you understand."

Harry was close to tears. He mopped at his eyes with his bedsheetsbed sheets while Dumbledore looked out the mirrors, suddenly ignorant of Harry. He whistled along with a bird outside as Harry attempted to pull himself together.

"That made you cry?" James' voice called from above, nearly making Harry jump out of the bed and even giving Dumbledore a start. "Sheesh, what a crybaby. Here I was thinking I actually rubbed off on you, bro."

"James?"

"The one and only. Who did you expect, Oprah?"

James and Clare Stovold were hanging from the ceiling, upside down. The brunette waved happily at Harry. James had his lopsided grin that he had reserved for troublemaking plastered on his face.

"Hi, Harry."

"Hi, Clare…"

"How's it, er... _hanging_, Harry?"

"Just fine," Harry answered, pulling something out of his pocket. He blushed as Dumbledore looked at it; muggle weapons at school were banned for reason. But Harry tossed the shank up to James, who caught it. "There's you're knife. Sorry I didn't get to use it."

"Ha ha, thanks bro!" James laughed as he pocketed it, Dumbledore ignorantly looking out the window, again. "Hey, 'sup, Professor?"

"Good morning, Professor!" Clare agreed.

"Good morning, you two," Dumbledore greeted happily, not the least bit angry. "How have Clare's rock-climbing lessons been going?"

"Great! Did you know her dad actually climbed Everest? _Everest_! The tallest freaking mountain in the world! How awesome is that?"

Harry sighed. "For all the maturity you say you have over me, it always amazes me how childish you really are."

"Growing old is mandatory," Dumbledore lectured. "Growing up, on the other hand, is optional."

"Exactly," James agreed. "Hey, could you throw me a Milky Way, Headmaster? This whole climbing-the-top-of-the-castle thing has left me starving."

"Certainly," Dumbledore tossed the candy bar up to James, who caught it perfectly. "I see your training as a Chaser has served you well, my boy. Now what kind of goodies did your friends leave you, Harry?"

Dumbledore rifled through the stack and came up with a bag of different colored beans. "Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was most unfortunate to have eaten a vomit-flavored one in my youth-" Clare and James shot each other disgusted, sympathetic looks- "And have since lost my fondness of them… but I'm sure a good toffee would do me some good, no?"

The old man reached into the bag and procured a golden brown bean and popped it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before wrenching his face and spitting it out the window. "Alas, earwax!"

"Ooh, I wanna try one!"

"Forget it, Clare, they're my brother's!"

"So… we don't get any unless we ask?"

"No, I just have first dibs!"

* * *

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse and head of the hospital wing, was a nice enough woman. Really, she was quite a sweetheart, James had to admit. But right now, she was the strictest, most irritating woman he had ever met, Madam Pince excluded.

"Just five minutes," Harry pleaded.

"No."

"C'mon, ma'am," Brian whined. "It's not like we're going to have a co-ed beerfest in here or something."

"Absolutely not."

"Madam Pomfrey, my Mom and Dad are gonna be here in ten minutes, and if I'm not in there, toting on my brother, holding his hand, and crying about how he could have died, they're going to _kill me_."

"I. Said. NO!"

"But you let Professor Dumbledore in…" Hermione pointed out, feeling uncomfortable going against a faculty member.

"That's right!" Ron agreed. "What's five little minutes?"

"Yes… well, he is the Headmaster. You are all students. There is a major difference there. So no; he needs rest!"

"But I am resting! See," Harry held up his arms as if that meant he was resting. "I'm in bed and everything! James isn't hanging upside down from the ceiling, and Clare Stovold isn't stealing my candy, and nobody is running around trying to kill her! See? See!"

"Madam Pomfrey, I think it would be best to just give them what they want," James Sr.'s voice laughed from down the hall. James Dean, Brian, Travis, and Harry all froze on the spot.

"We're so dead," James cried quietly.

"He made us promise not to get our heads chopped off-"

"-And we didn't live up-"

"-And now he's gonna do it anyway!"

"Should we run away now?"

"No point, he'll just chase us down. Besides, I'm sure Remus and Sirius are around the bend of both halls. We ain't gonna get anywhere."

"You know me oh so well," James joked as he put his hand on James Dean's shoulder.

James cringed.

"May we all go in, Madam Pomfrey? I promise I'll keep them in line."

His grip on James' shoulder squeezed painfully, and James cringed again. He hated being short…

"Very well… but just five minutes! No more!"

Pomfrey moved out the door and let them all in. James Dean and Travis both jumped on opposite sides of the foot of Harry's bed, while their father sat at the chair. The others stood in a circle around it, looking nervous. Remus and Sirius walked in just moments later, joking about how they knew James Dean knew they were there.

"Are you alright?" James Sr. asked softly.

"Yeah."

"That's good," James took Harry's hand and squeezed. "I'm proud of you. I'm proud of all of you."

If there was anything James Dean was supposed to expect, it wasn't that. He had made a promise not to go flying into the face of danger, and he threw that promise to the wind.

"I know you promised me not to get in trouble like this," James looked up at James Dean with a sad smile. "But you also said you wouldn't do it unless it was necessary. And I think this constitutes."

James Dean grinned. He had forgotten about that.

"Now, would you two care to tell this tale?"

So Harry and James Dean did. Everything that happened from Hagrid's three headed dog, Flitwick's chamber of flying keys, McGonagall's chess set, Snape's potion room, and the Mirror of Erised. Harry told him everything Quirrell had said, and then James explained how he even got there.

"Harry tossed me the flask," he pulled the bulbous bottle from his jeans pocket. "And it had a couple drops left. It wasn't enough to keep me from catching fire, but it made it go out pretty quickly. It ruined my Ride the Lightning t-shirt, but meh… I saved you, right?"

James Sr. hugged him. That was all he could do; he'd have to cry otherwise.

James patted his father on the back and smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I'm good, I know."

"So," Harry quickly said, trying to change the subject. "How long have I been out?"

"Three days," Brian quickly answered, grasping at the chance to leave the mushy moment behind.

"Three days!" Harry screamed. "I missed the game!"

"Don't worry, we killed Gryffindor," James mockingly comforted. "You should have seen it. I scored twenty three goals."

"What? What was the final score?"

Ron gulped. "Seven hundred-thirty to…"

"… Ten." Hermione finished, looking sorry.

James Sr. even winced, but threw his arm around the shoulders of James Dean. "My Chaser son played very well, even better than his captain."

"Dad, Desmond scored thirty four times. How was that better?"

"You're my son, that's how," James answered through gritted teeth, tightening his grip and James Dean's shoulder.

And once again, James winced.

* * *

"Seriously, James, I don't need to be taken in to the final feast in a wheelchair."

"Seriously, Harry, I promised Madam Pomfrey I would take there in one."

"You're doing this to annoy me," Harry grumbled.

"Correction: I'm doing this to annoyingly not hinder your recovery."

"Recovery from what?"

"Nothing."

Harry turned to his twin and frowned. "You're not telling me something."

"I'm not telling you something because there's nothing to tell."

"Bullocks," Harry cursed as he shoved his feet in front of the wheels, painfully stopping them in their tracks. "Tell me."

James looked up at the ceiling in exasperation. With a sigh, he started talking. "Well, our little foray into the unknown chambers that defended the Stone was a complete secret of Dumbledore's, so naturally everyone in the school knows. And naturally, they all know what we have gone through. And naturally, Neville has to be good at Herbology."

"What? What does Neville have to do with anything?"

"He- he kinda just threw it out there that Devil's Snare has the possibility to carry certain… diseases."

"Diseases."

"Diseases. One of which happens to make one's… er, stuff fall off."

"Stuff."

"Stuff. Y'know-"

"I know what stuff you're talking about."

"Oh. Okay. Well, after that, the rumors kinda started to spread, and then Malfoy heard them. He cornered poor Neville and asked if it was true, because everybody knows Herbology is all Neville's good at, and that he's great at it… and, well… you can figure out the rest.

"That's it," Harry huffed as he stood up. "I'm not riding in this anymore."

"What? But Madam Pomfrey-"

"To hell with her, I'm killing Neville."

"I'm all right with, bro, I am right with you. Really, I am… but what do I do with this thing?"

Harry paused, and looked thoughtfully at the chair. Endless possibilities flooded his mind as he stair at its glimmering silver features. "Bring it with. After we beat Neville to death with it, we can bring him to Pomfrey on it."

James nodded, and pensively considered something. "Wanna add Malfoy to that list?"

"Certainly."

"James."

James swatted the poking finger away groggily. "What?"

"Dumbledore's about to do something."

"If it is doesn't involve a unicycle, a clown outfit and a tripwire I'm not interested."

"Where did that come from?"

"No idea, he's just being weird. Wake up!"

"I'm up… I'm up… hey, where's Harry's wheelchair?"

Brian looked at James cross-eyed. "James… you were dreaming. Harry has been out of the wheelchair for a day and a half, against Pomfrey's advice. Remember?"

"Shut up you two," Samhain al-Fulani commanded. "Dumbledore is awarding extra points."

James snorted. _Extra points? Slytherin won, and an uprising might occur if they didn't get away with it._ James hadn't paid attention to anything the old bat said, however, because a pretty Hufflepuff seventh year caught his tired eye. Her hair was a bright canary yellow with black streaks through it, and spiked up in a punk style. She was somehow making chameleon eyes at a group of First Years, making them laugh like little children.

_God, did I ever act like that? And how is she doing that with her eyes?_

Then the girl caught sight of him looking at her, and winked. James raised his eyebrow at her, and she laughed. With a grin, her face contorted into that of an orange tabby cat. James scowled.

_How did she know I hate cats?_

Before he could come up with a reply to the girl's silly behavior, however, what sounded like an explosion went off inside the Hall. From all sides Ravenclaws and Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were hugging each and screaming, "We tied! We tied!"

"What is going on?" James asked as Travis bear hugged him.

"We tied! For what we did with Stone, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tied!"

James could not believe Dumbledore's nerve. Must James and Harry share everything?

"Wotcher, Potter," a voice from behind cheerily greeted. It was the annoying girl who changed her face into a cat, and she was hugging him. His face was crushed into her hair, which was now a tie-dye of red, gold, bronze and blue. "Congratulations!"

She was a Hufflepuff, made a cat face at him just to annoy him, and was a Hufflepuff. But the awesome shapeshifting abilities, the way she smelled, and the fact that she was pressing him into her rather nice chest did something that never, ever happened to James before.

He blushed.

* * *

Tada!...?

Well, there you have it. The (not so) stunning conclusion to the Twins' Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. It amazes me that I actually finished this. What started as a nagging little plot bunny when I first got into the Harry Potter series little more than two years ago had evolved from a wild, insane crossover with Star Wars to a half-baked "Orphan Slytherin Twin" idea to the face of the story we have today.

It wasn't easy, and this story didn't live up to my expectations, but looking back on the chapters I have written, I'm still kinda proud. KINDA.

In any case, I have Credits to acknowledge.

1: The most important of all, Clare-Stovold. The first reviewer, the greatest reviewer, and the only one to comment on EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER. You're the best, mate. Seriously.

2: GinervaMWeasley- my first beta, and the one who got my head on straight.

3: Master Solo: We share a taste in music, stories, and interests. You have reviewed many of the chapters, and even though it was a little late in the process, what you lacked in timing you made up for in WIN. May the force be with you, Master Jedi!

4: Silver Sailor Ganymede: I like you. You're cool. You reviewed constantly. You questioned the things that may not have made sense. You're awesome. Enough said.

5: Second-to-last-but-most-definietlydefinitely-not-least, forevermagic. You are my editor (remember, "Beta" makes the editor's sound inferior?), an author's best friend, and my lifeline. You had good input, put up with my stupid meaningless ramblings, and still stuck around. I love you, mate. I. Love. YOU.

6: Last but not least, that one lady who actually created this stuff. Uh… what's her name again? Whatever, she gets all the credit, money, and fame for it anyway. Stupid, chewing gum addicted, living in mansions famous people.


	20. Epilogue: The DURSLEYS?

"We're going on vacation," James Sr. said sadly.

They were outside of Potter Manor. The entire ride home, James had known that something was up. His parents weren't joking around, and Uncle Sirius' usual playful manner wasn't as easygoing. Something big was about to happen, and he knew it.

James Dean did catch on to that, but was more than glad to ignore it. "Sweet! Where are we going?"

"Not we, James," Lily said, a frown on her face and motioning to her, James and Sirius. "But _we_. We're going to Japan."

James and Harry stared, as Brian and Travis looked between each other with uncertainty. Finally James sighed. "Bullcrap."

"James!"

"Watch your language."

"Why? It is, y'know. You aren't going on any vacation, not without us. You wouldn't do that to us. You're doing something for Dumbledore."

Lily's eyes bugged while Sirius coughed nervously. James sighed and looked down at his son. "What we're doing is none of your business."

"When it is coming from Dumbledore, it is. 'Cause Dumbledore wouldn't be sending you anywhere if it didn't involve Voldemort. And if it involves that jerkoff, than it involves us, too."

James bristled. "We are going, it's none of your business, and you're staying at your aunt and uncle's whether you like or not!"

"WHAT!?" The four screamed. Going on vacaqtion without them was one thing. But leaving _them there_?

"Why can't Uncle Remus watch us?"

"We got Quincy! And the elves, too!"

"You can't send us there! I'm short, and scrawny, and Vernon or Dudley or both will only enhance that image!"

"They think I'm a freak!"

"They think all of us are freaks!"

"This ain't fair!"

"What are we supposed to defend ourselves? We can't use magic out of school!"

"ENOUGH!" James roared. "Go to your rooms, now! This is _not _a democracy!"

Fuming, the four boys stormed off inside the Manor. James sighed and knelt by his wife's wheelchair, hugging her as she suppressed her tears.

"They hate us," she sobbed.

"No, they hate the Dursleys," Sirius corrected with a laugh. "And I can't blame them for being furious. I know you don't want them around Moony whenever he goes through his… er… _monthly cycle_, mate, but still… the Dursleys? How is that any less worse?"

"They would just boss around Quincy and the elves and get away with it. James would turn the house into an anarchist state and not even Moony would be able to stop him."

"True… he would probably be so shut up in his lab that even if James blew up a nuclear warhead in the basement, he wouldn't hear it until the fallout fell from the sky."

"Let's just try to not plant that idea in James' head, eh, Padfoot?"

Sirius snorted. "As if I need too. That kid is too smart for his good. He figured you out, didn't he?"


End file.
